


The Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy

by InsertImaginativeNameHere



Category: Forever (TV), Pushing Daisies
Genre: Crack, Crack Crossover, Crossover, Gen, Humor, I mean there's a murder and it's kind of mysterious but not really in the traditional sense, Murder Mystery, Mystery, mild crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-11
Updated: 2015-10-23
Packaged: 2018-04-03 23:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 40,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4118071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InsertImaginativeNameHere/pseuds/InsertImaginativeNameHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the short moment just before Henry dies, the process is interrupted by a mysterious Piemaker - who is surprised when, after the usual sixty second chat, the body just disappears. While Ned hunts for the Vanishing Dead Guy, Henry and Abe search for the Piemaker, unaware that when they find one another the truth of the matter might be stranger than anticipated.</p><p>Takes place AFTER the final episode of Pushing Daisies but BEFORE the final episode of Forever. Whenabouts in the Forever chronology it takes place is uncertain as of yet.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Piemaker with the Caterpillar Eyebrows

**Author's Note:**

> This crossover makes no sense. Both shows are over. Both are pretty obscure. Why am I writing this then? Because my Doctor Who Time War fic is bloody boring, that's why, and this seems like fun. I'll be updating weekly regardless of how few comments this gets.
> 
> The fact is I've no idea where this is going it's just a bit of fun. So enjoy. Or don't enjoy. Be a killjoy. Whatever floats your boat. Please leave a comment if you can think of any ideas for this, or drop an ask in to my tumblr about it. My url is exactly the same as my name here, so it should be easy enough to find me.
> 
> Anyway. On with the story.

**Chapter 1**

_The facts were these..._

_In the city of New York, a 235 year old medical examiner by the name of Doctor Henry Morgan was about to die. Again. He tried not to make a habit of it, but it is very hard for a man that age to survive a car accident like that at such a high speed. Doctor Morgan was 235 years, six months, nine hours and twenty-seven seconds old when he died._

_For most people, a hit and run attack late one Thursday night would be the end, as they passed on to wherever people go after death, but there are occasional outliers out there, people like Doctor Morgan who had, for over 200 years, cheated death by returning in water, never aging a day. Never dying for anything longer than four minutes._

_By a strange and altogether entirely improbable set of coincidences, another man was walking down the street who also understood death was not the end. His name was Ned, and he was the Piemaker, who could touch dead things bringing them back to life. He had no idea of the chain of events he was about to set off when he knelt down beside a dying man on that quiet, lonely evening._

 

 

__

-

__

Henry hated dying at the best of times, but lying in the gutter with a stranger leaning over him and _talking_ with the same kind of awkward, inane babble as Lucas, now that was something he would really have preferred to avoid. Bad enough that there would be a witness to - well, the unfortunate thing that happened whenever he died - he just _had_ to prattle on about ridiculous nonsense for the entire time, eyebrows jumping all over the place like dark, terrified caterpillars, voice growing fainter as Henry felt himself slipping away into silence. He prepared himself for the usual irksome swim back to the city, completely naked, freezing very sensitive areas of his body off, followed by Abe’s mocking and mothering for the next few hours.

__

That was how it always went. It was inevitable.

__

Instead, he felt a surge of something, a bizarre sort of energy rushing through his blood and giving him _life_. He breathed. His eyes opened to the dark street, man with the caterpillar eyebrows and Lucas’ patterns of speech leaning over him.

__

“Hey uh we just met a moment ago. My name’s Ned, in case you know, death made you forget that. We’ve only got about a minute so do you have any final requests, anyone you’d like to say goodbye to?”

__

_What?_

__

Ned was looking at his watch nervously, which made absolutely no sense. None of this made sense, it defied rational explanation. It was probably a hallucination, concocted by lack of oxygen to the brain causing his final - well, not so much final as _transitional_ \-  moments to be a figment of his imagination. It wouldn’t have been the first time. Nor the most surreal, for that matter. The only thing stopping him from accepting this hypothesis was the fact he knew what death felt like. He had felt it. He had _died_. By rights, he should be emerging from the river in a couple of minutes, stark naked and inconvenienced beyond measure.

__

Confused, he tried to right himself, failing, mostly because it is very hard to sit up when every bone in your body is broken and by rights you should be dead, but partly because one of his arms he was trying to prop himself up on was lying about a foot or so away from the rest of his body. Of course. Perfect. It just had to happen, didn’t it? Absolutely bloody typical.

__

“No. No last requests.” Henry replied, staring up at a patch of deep blue sky visible overhead.

__

“Okay so do  you have any idea who killed you? Anyone who might want you dead?” Ned rattled off the questions as if he had asked them before. Like this was a routine day in his life. _Definitely a hallucination._

__

The question lingered in Henry’s mind until - of course! - the answer came to him. _Adam. That bloody psychopath just has to keep proving he can get to me at any time._ Struggling for breath, Henry nodded. How he managed this, he had no idea. If Ned was telling the truth, and he only had a minute left; less now; there wasn’t enough time for his excessively long life story. There never was anyway, regardless of circumstances.

__

“It doesn’t matter…” he murmured, trailing off.

__

“Yes it does,” Ned insisted hurriedly, seemingly conscious of time constraints. “Everybody matters. What’s your name?”

__

It couldn’t hurt to tell him. Wasn’t as if he could track him down from first name alone. “Henry.”

__

“Who killed you?” Ned, who looked nothing like Lucas really but was somehow so similar Henry wanted to trust him, was glancing at his watch even more frequently. A minute, he had said. That minute was almost up.

__

Henry shook his head as best as he could. “I couldn’t possibly know where to even begin.” The stranger looked at his watch more anxiously now, and Henry decided to simply lie back and wait for whatever was about to happen to get on with it, for his most bizarre death in a long while to come to its inevitable conclusion. He expected to drift off into unconsciousness, to wake in the river, hallucinations long forgotten. He did not expect Ned to reach out and touch him, for that touch to drain the energy he had felt, draw it out in an instant, so sudden, the physical contact could only have caused it. What the hell was going on? The thought didn’t bother him for long because the next thing he knew, he was in the river, ready to embark on the arduous trip back to shore. He’d actually drowned once, a long time ago; died, come back, got dragged under and died again. It was absolutely typical sometimes. Really it was…

__

That stranger’s face stuck in his mind, so vividly it could not have been a dream. Ned. Mulling over the details, he recalled seeing flour on the man’s trousers. A baker? Or...and he wasn’t sure what gave him this particular idea, as it was certainly not a logical conclusion - a piemaker.

__

He would have to talk to Abe and see if there was a way to use, what was it called, ‘the Google’ to track this ‘Ned’ down.

__

Ned.

__

The Piemaker.

__

-

__

_Meanwhile, back on the street where Doctor Morgan had met his most recent demise, a rather confused Piemaker was staring at the place that a body used to be. A body that had disappeared, leaving only a pocket-watch behind. The Piemaker knew that what he had seen was impossible, but then again, wasn’t touching dead things and bringing them back to life just as, if not more, unlikely?_

__

_He resolved to ask Emerson Cod, private detective and his sort-of-business partner, what he thought about the matter. And also to find out who the man in the street had been. And to find his killer._

__

_Henry._

__

_Who was he?_

**  
And more importantly, where was his corpse? ** ****  


 

 


	2. A Man Named Emerson Cod

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man named Emerson Cod gets involved...and the Pie-Hole gang head straight to the morgue to see a lovely fellow who might be able to help them. You may have heard of him. His name's Lucas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who commented on the first chapter, it's an odd concept I grant you, but I hope it will be amusing. I get a bit rambly here and there is basically no forth wall, but I hope you enjoy.

**Chapter 2**

_Lucas Wahl was an excitable young man who worked for the Medical Examiner’s Office. At this moment he was 32 years two weeks, four days, three hours twelve minutes and seven seconds old. His boss, one Doctor Henry Morgan, was the closest thing he’d had to a hero since childhood. He certainly would never go behind his back - not after the incident with Abe’s mother in which he attempted to pass off as English on the telephone. Since then, he had been attempting to make up for his indiscretion by leaving food gifts as an offering of friendship, which went unnoticed like so many similar gestures towards Doctor Morgan had in the past. For the past few weeks he had been ordering very interesting and more importantly, delicious pies, one of which was waiting on Doctor Morgan’s desk for him to come into work and ignore._

  
  


_Unbeknownst to Lucas, his beloved Doctor Morgan had just been murdered by a stranger driving carelessly at dangerously high speeds. The facts were these: in the instant he had perished, before his body had been able to vanish, he had been resurrected by another stranger, a stranger who coincidentally happened to be the same man who had baked the very pie that was resting atop his paperwork._

  
  


_Lucas Wahl knew none of this, but he was about to receive a visit from a man who knew some of the story but had none of the answers._

  
  


_A man named Emerson Cod._

  
  


_-_

  
  


Private detective work was a lot less fun than pop-up books at the best of times. And the crazy story Pie-Boy had come to him with was making Emerson stress-knit in the back of the car. That and Dead Girl’s apparent excitement and inability to shut up about the whole thing, like vanishing corpses were some sort of fun, enjoyable day out for all the family. Sure, why didn’t she bring her cuckoo Darling Mermaid Darling aunts along too? Call Olive from her new life with the taxidermist running some weird-ass restaurant. Get everyone back together only for Emerson to burst the bubble by pointing out Pie-Boy had probably gone insane. He wasn’t going to sugar-coat it, he’d seen this coming a long way off. Bringing Dead Girl back to life was where it had all started - but that’s an entirely different kettle of fish, and one you should probably ask a Mr Bryan Fuller about, if he isn’t too busy with laugh-a-minute cooking shows like Hannibal or true-to-life documentaries such as American Gods. If you do encounter him, I _said nothing. Sssh._

  
  


“See, I don’t get why we’re going to the morgue in the first place,” Emerson said, cutting off Dead Girl’s constant chatter. “Even if I believed your crazy-ass story, which I don’t, you think your Vanishing Dead Guy will have upped and walked himself in.”

  
  


Pie-Boy didn’t take his eyes off the road. “I know what I saw, Emerson. And I know how it sounds.”

  
  


“So?”

  
  


“We’re going to the morgue because it’s a starting point. And I know a guy who works there.”

  
  


“Oh, Lucas!” Dead Girl piped up. “He’s been ordering pies from us for a few weeks now. He’s nice.”

  
  


Pie-Boy squirmed uncomfortably, as he always did whenever Dead Girl referred to another guy. He was paranoid she’d run off with someone capable of a physical relationship. Going from a boyfriend who could raise the dead to a morgue attendant would carry some sort of sick irony, almost funny except of course if Dead Girl left, Emerson would have to put up with Pie-Boy’s endless moaning and loneliness and ‘Chuck-left-me’ angst and nobody had enough time for that, least of all him. Besides, though he’d never say it out loud, he was not a man with many friends, and Dead Girl and Pie-Boy were the closest he had. If Pie-Boy - Ned _-_ was cracking up...Emerson wasn’t sure he could take it.

  
  


“Oh I know!” There she went again, Dead Girl with one of her ridiculous theories, thankfully derailing the conversation from the previous uncomfortable topic. “What if your Vanishing Dead Guy was a ghost,” her voice took on a tone of melodrama and Emerson rolled his eyes. “Doomed to repeat the same death over and over again but when you touched him you freed him from his curse.”

  
  


Apparently it wasn’t just Emerson who thought this theory was nuts. Pie-Boy pulled into the parking lot, stopping the car, and looked at Dead Girl like she was insane. Which of course she was, but that was beside the point.

  
  


“First of all, he’s not _my_ Vanishing Dead Guy. More a general ‘Dead Guy’ who just happened to ‘Vanish’ completely unrelated to me. Secondly, you know I don’t believe in ghosts. And even if ghosts did exist which they don’t, I’d still have known. I wouldn’t have been able to alive-again him in the first place. And thirdly-”

  
  


Done with listening to this stupid-ass story, Emerson interrupted “Can you two hurry your slow asses up and get this over with? I promised my lil gumshoe I’d take her to the movies.”

  
  


Reunited with his daughter, Emerson was trying his hardest to be a good father so that when the custody hearing came up he’d have a fighting chance of gaining permanent rights. His two friends nodded sympathetically and for once, possibly the first time in actual human history, listened to the hardboiled private eye, climbing from the vehicle and walking quickly over to the building where they would find absolutely nothing and Emerson would act smug and say I told you so. And Pie-Boy, _Ned_ , he would get over it and he would be _okay._ He wasn’t going crazy.

  
  


And that would be the end of it.

  
  


Poor Emerson Cod.

He couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried.

  
  


-

  
  


_On the other side of town, a 235 year old Medical Examiner and his 70 year old adopted son were also discussing the bizarre turn of events. Abraham Morgan was concerned as always after one of his adoptive father’s various deaths. The 235 year old Medical Examiner was easily upset and in his altered post-death state he could become quite agitated and had been known to make some terrible decisions before now._

  
  


_Right now though, they were thinking only one thing._

  
  


_Whether or not there was someone out there who could raise the dead. They had the Piemaker’s secret, from a perspective nobody had ever had, was_ _ supposed  _ _to have. Their only problem was he could easily expose them too. At one time they would have fled, but now there were people they both cared about here._

  
_Which was why they were desperately trying to find the Piemaker, for the sake of the life they had built in New York City._  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please, if you liked something, tell me what. If you have a problem, take it up with Mr Bryan Fuller. On second thoughts, don't just tell me. And thank you so much for reading this far.


	3. 'Vanishing Guy Dead?'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A man named Lucas Wahl has been ordering pie for his boss...and is about to get a visit from three people in possession of a very bizarre and surreal secret inquiring after a 'Vanishing Guy Dead'?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the most fun. Lucas is just a treat to write. I hope you like it.  
> Also the next chapter bends canon a little please don't despise me for it I WANT YOU GUYS TO LIKE ME DAMMIT.  
> Please leave a comment with any ideas as to where this might go or criticism of any kind. And enjoy.

**Chapter 3**

  


_At this exact moment, three companions in possession of one secret were walking into the New York City Medical Examiner’s Office._

_Meanwhile, a father and his considerably older-looking son in possession of another secret were flicking through directories trying to locate nearby bakeries._

_Neither side knew that they were carrying the other’s secret._

_The operative term of course being -_ _ **yet.** _

  


-

  


“Lucas!”

 

He heard the voice and turned. There she was, the girl named Chuck. He knew little else about her, except for the fact she baked pies and was very, very pretty. And she had a boyfriend, of course, so was off-limits. And Lucas respected her boyfriend’s culinary abilities and was mildly intimidated by his height and those exceptional eyebrows and-

 

There they were, Chuck in her usual floral patterned dress type of thing, Ned hunched over, arms pressed closely to his sides, a stranger,a large black guy with a terrible purple shirt, stood behind them, cigar clamped firmly in his mouth.

 

“Oh...hey Chuck. Ned. Uh... you’re not technically allowed here my boss will-” he made a gesture to indicate explosion.

 

“Spontaneously combust?” muttered the stranger.

 

“Lucas, this is Emerson Cod. He’s a private detective.” Chuck explained. “Emerson, this is Lucas. He’s one of our most loyal customers.”

 

“That explains the cigar,” Lucas joked, to a look of unamused irritation from Emerson. “You know, private eye, cigar...uh...you know what I’m...?”

 

“Man, you’re worse than Pie-Boy!” Emerson muttered. “At least he can finish his sentences. Even if they don’t make any damn sense at all, at least he finishes them.”

 

“Thank you Emerson...I think,” mumbled Ned, awkward as ever. Lucas studied the three, wondering exactly why they were here. They’d already delivered today, there was a peach cobbler waiting on Henry’s desk for his return. It wasn’t like Henry to be late. Normally he was so proper, on time, everything _just so,_ exactly how he liked it. But he had been under some stress lately and so was entitled to a little time, Lucas was hardly one to make a fuss about it. When he turned up, his assistant decided if he was going to comment he’d just say it was ‘fashionably late’ and compliment the scarf choice of the day. Because Henry not wearing a scarf was even more unthinkable than Henry turning up late. At least there was an innocent explanation for that, while there was nothing that could adequately explain away a lack of scarf. The scarves were sacred.

 

“You guys should go. Dr Morgan’ll be here soon and he can be a bit...intense.”

 

“Dr Morgan’s a man?” Chuck raised her eyebrows at his embarrassed expression. “I always assumed your orders were for a girl. The messages on the labels are very affectionate.”

 

“Dr Morgan and I have a very affectionate relationship,” Lucas said, before realising exactly what he’d just blurted out and going bright red. “I mean, manly friendship. Bromance. No homo, you know what I’m saying?”

 

Emerson Cod, private detective who _was smoking in the morgue_ \- well, the clients were hardly going to feel health effects but _Henry would notice,_ coughed subtly “Gay. Oh, I’m sorry, did I say that out loud?”

 

“First of all, you can’t smoke in here, secondly - I’m not actually gay. One hundred percent _hetero_ over here. I’m, you know...reeeeeally into girls. Like Chuck for instance.” Both Chuck and Ned joined Lucas in the ‘who-can-do-the-best-impression-of-a-literal-tomato?’ club, while Lucas Wahl just kept digging. “Well, you know, like Chuck’s a girl and I like girls but I don’t like Chuck in that way obviously I mean that would be weird, right, I mean, since you and Chuck are going out and I like other girls...”

 

“Would these other girls happen to be named Dr Morgan?” Ned muttered, possibly the most aggressive act the quiet Piemaker had ever undertaken in perhaps his entire life, his eyebrows raised in what Lucas would refer to as ‘passive-aggressive attack mode’. Before Lucas could start objecting profusely again, the private detective cut in, extinguishing his cigar and glaring at everyone in the room including the nearest corpse available.

 

“Can we get to the point? Corpse Guy - gay, straight, whatever, I don’t care. So long as you’re not doing anything untoward to the corpses, I couldn’t care less. We’re not here to discuss your…” Emerson looked Lucas up and down and raised his eyebrows “‘No homo’ relationship with your ‘special friend’ Dr Morgan-”

 

“For the last time I’m-”

 

“Excuse me, was I done? Was I even remotely done? I don’t think so. So you just shut your mouth and sit your ass down.” Lucas obliged. “We’re here about a VDG, that’s Vanishing Dead Guy to you. You see, Pie-Boy here witnessed a murder earlier today but he’s not sure where the body is, so we’re looking for a corpse that might’ve been brought in and you’re going to assist our investigation.”

 

“I’d love to help you but I can’t,” Lucas blustered.

 

“Can’t? How about we start reading these famous love notes out to your friends? Family? Colleagues?” Lucas’ face went pale, as he attempted once again to explain himself. The hole he had dug was approximately 7 miles deep and now rivalled the Marianas Trench. “I thought so. So, Corpse Guy. You just check to see if anyone’s been brought in matching our description…” Emerson turned to Ned. “You wouldn’t shut up about it on the way here and now you go quiet?”

 

“Social anxiety is very stressful...especially when _completely straight_ guys like Lucas keep _hitting on_ my girlfriend.” Ned glared at the newly christened ‘Corpse Guy’, who really, really knew the feeling. The Piemaker wasn’t the only one experiencing social anxiety at that moment.

 

“I’m so, so, sorry.” Turning to Chuck he apologised again “I wasn’t, you know, _hitting_ on her it was just an example. Uh...if you want, I’ll help you find your VGD.”

 

“Vanishing Guy Dead?” the three visitors all asked at once

 

“VDG, VDG, got it.” Lucas realised at that moment he had _literally_ been embarrassed into helping people with enquiries he wasn’t supposed to. Dear God, he was a mess. But like, a cool mess, or something like that.

 

Henry wouldn’t be pleased.

 

He wondered if they’d give him a discount in apology pie.

  


-

  


“ _So what did he look like?” Both Ned and Henry were asked at exactly the same time._

  


“ _Tall, early thirties. Nervous. Thick eyebrows.”_

“ _Male. Brown hair. Slight stubble.”_

  


“ _Wearing dark t-shirt and jeans.”_

“ _Suit. Scarf.”_

  


“ _He was a baker of some sort, like I said earlier. Possibly a piemaker.”_

“ _English accent.”_

  


“ _He said his name was Ned.”_

“ _He said his name was Henry.”_

  


_Both Lucas Wahl and Abraham Morgan’s jaws dropped, and simultaneously, they both, disbelieving, said; “No.”_

 


	4. A Canon-Bending Twist of Fate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things get surreal as Abe's own personal connection to the Piemaker becomes all-too-clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay okay, as the title might betray I get a little creative with canon in this chapter. It's been stressful work trying to make these changes I've implemented work and I'm terrified nobody will like it. I will defend my choices to the death, but I'm still scared there'll be purists from both fandoms attempting to burn me at the stake for witchcraft. 
> 
> ALSO IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT - I'm going to be on hiatus for three weeks from the 15th of July onwards. This is for two reasons - one being, that I'm in Hong Kong visiting friends. The other is more serious. For a few months now I've been suffering with stress from the rigorous standards I hold my writing to, which have been detrimental to my concentration and my ability to have confidence in my own work. I've been getting anxious whenever I start writing and so I'm taking a break. Next week's chapter will be up as scheduled, followed by the week after's if I manage to find where I've left it and type it up. And I'm so sorry about this, you guys. I wish I was able to continue but I really need to step back and relax because it's not good for me to constantly be putting myself under this much pressure.
> 
> Now, I'm sorry for taking up so much time and I hope you don't despise this chapter. It's a change I think will be interesting and cement the interlinking of the two shows in this fic. Please, please don't crucify me for it. What else are crossovers for but to have some creative license? Anyway, it'll be interesting to see new sides of each of the characters. On with the show...

**Chapter 4**

**A Canon-Bending Twist of Fate**

  
  


_On two sides of town, at precisely the same moment, Abraham Morgan and Lucas Wahl had both heard the last names they had wanted to hear. For Lucas Wahl, this came with the news his hero and ‘no homo’ friend Dr Henry Morgan had perished at the hands - or, rather, high-speed vehicle - of a person or persons unknown._

  
  


_Meanwhile, Abraham Morgan and his adoptive father, the self-same 235 year old medical examiner who had been mowed down by the homicidal truck driver earlier that evening, both knew full well who had brought about this latest death. Abe, Holocaust survivor, orphaned at an early age and raised erratically by an immortal father who didn’t age, had a secret entirely of his own._

  
  


_A secret nobody was ever supposed to know._

  
  


_Least of all, Henry Morgan._

  
  


_-_

  
  


As a rule, Abe tried to be truthful with his father. Henry was usually so hard to lie to; when he was in his right mind he could tear apart an untruth with logical precision. When he wasn’t, in the years following Abigail’s departure from both of their lives, and even before that, on the anniversary of majorly traumatic events, little things slipped through. He had never told Henry about keeping the notes on Abigail, for instance. Just little things, but they added up. Briefly, and he never spoke about this period of his life, when he had been living under an assumed name, between marriages with Maureen, avoiding contact with his parents, he had dabbled in magic. Having an immortal father was enough to interest a young boy in the supernatural and he had taken it up as a hobby at various points.

  
  


That wasn’t the major deception though.

  
  


That wasn’t the lie that had broken Henry’s heart now, left him standing there speechless, tears shining in his grey eyes. If Abe could have waited even a few hours longer, until Henry was properly himself again, maybe he would have taken it better. Or maybe not. This lie was the ultimate betrayal and God knew Henry had been betrayed enough by those he loved before now. It had been something Abe had always planned to mention but had never been brave enough to broach the subject. There was still so much shame associated with that period.

  
  


“You...have a son?” Henry managed, choking on his words. Guilt struck Abe, not for the first time.

  
  


“Three, actually.” The betrayal turned to outrage, anger flooding Henry’s face. “I always meant to tell you!” Abe shouted, trying to hold his own feelings in check. This hurt. He had never been good with handling his emotions, which was why he had run away. Twice. Abandoning his sons - Henry’s grandsons...he could not have been more ashamed of his actions, especially towards Ned. His firstborn. The quiet little boy he’d been unable to face after his mother had died, using virtually all of the life insurance money to keep him out of sight, out of mind at boarding school. The Piemaker he’d become, apparently solving crimes and running around constantly nearly dying, or at least that’s all Abe had seen on his few anonymous visits, unable to reveal his true identity out of awkwardness.

  
  


And bringing dead things back to life? Ned? What?

  
  


“So you’re saying you had children? Without telling me? You... _kept_ my grandchildren from me?”

  
  


“They’re not even yours!” Abe surprised himself at the harshness of his words. It had been a long time since he’d used that argument against his adoptive father - _you can’t tell me what to do, you’re not even my real dad -_ and he saw the anger leave Henry, turning to despair. Instantly he regretted the jibe. He had known no other father. And as he’d grown older, Henry had become more like a friend too. He should have told him. He shouldn’t have left his children. Henry would have loved helping to raise the next generation, especially young Ned.

  
  


Ned.

The enigmatic baker, that is of course, piemaker, who had brought Henry back to life for all of sixty seconds. His son, Ned, who he had seen a total of five times since dropping him off at boarding school. How could he bring things back from the dead? It didn’t make any sense. But was immortality any less surreal? _Imagine the Christmas dinners._

  
  


Abe looked back to his distraught _father_ “Dad…” he ventured, trying to make it okay again.

  
  


“No, Abraham,” Henry replied bitterly. “I’m not. Like you said.”

  
  


“I didn’t mean it like that!” Abe said desperately “I’m sorry. I should’ve-”

  
  


“Yes. You should. I might have been able to forgive you if you hadn’t left your sons.”

  
  


“You want to lecture me? Since when were you the perfect father? Newsflash Henry - you weren’t! We had to move constantly. I was always the outsider, always the new kid everywhere we went. Because of you and your immortality!”

  
  


“I know,” Henry replied, quieter than Abe had ever seen him. “My curse ruined your childhood, perhaps even your life, I understand that. But I was always there for you. I was _always_ there.”

  
  


He turned, putting one of his frankly ridiculous scarves on and storming out of the antiques shop, leaving his adopted son regretting large portions of his life, up to and including the last 5 minutes or so. He wanted to chase after Henry and apologise for everything. To find Ned, the twins, apologise for leaving. To fix things. But he hesitated just long enough to let Henry get out of sight, and he knew by that time it was too late. Henry was gone.

  
  


And it was Abe’s fault.

  
  


_-_

  
  


_In her apartment, Detective Jo Martinez was about to be told by a hysterical Lucas Wahl that the second man she had ever truly fallen in love with had just been reported dead. Or, at least, someone fitting his description._

  
  


_The Pie Hole gang had, at Chuck’s insistence and much to Emerson’s chagrin, agreed to head over to Morgan’s Antiques to break the tragic news to Abraham, who at that very moment was pouring himself a glass of wine in a vain attempt to pretend over half of his life had never happened._

  
  


_As they made their way towards the antique store, the Piemaker thought he saw a man who looked exactly like the Vanishing Dead Guy storm past, calling for a cab, which unbeknownst to the Piemaker, was about to head into work for the day, arriving at the medical examiner’s office on time to find a case opening to investigate his own murder._

  
  


_None of this has happened yet, but it is about to._

_Soon._

  
_That is to say, now._


	5. That One Line From 'The Incredibles'

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Pie-Hole gang head over to Abe's antique store, Jo receives the news about Henry's 'demise'; and how does the glass shatter...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The ending of this chapter gets a little...well, very aesthetic. Just channeling my inner Bryan Fuller as per Hannibal. At least there's no fancy snails, right?
> 
> If you've been following this, you know I'm taking a break soon, however, I'll be posting the next chapter next Tuesday, a day early, I managed to root out the notebook and type it up yesterday. I'll be writing again after that, I'm feeling much better already and this holiday should do me good. I hope you enjoy the direction this story is taking and thank you so much for your positive comments regarding my plot twist.

** Chapter 5 **

** That One Line From the Incredibles **

  
  


_ At this moment, the girl named Chuck was 29 years, 2 months and half an hour old. She was back from a visit with her two aunts, one of whom, Aunt Lily, had turned out to be her mother. As always, after one of her trips away, she was worried about the Piemaker, whose residual childhood issues manifested themselves in a peculiar sort of social anxiety, especially his fear of abandonment, thanks to his less than perfect father. _

  
  


_ Unbeknownst to Chuck, this same father was the very same man whose address they had been given to visit, to tell a man named Abraham that one Doctor Henry Morgan had previously perished earlier that day.  _

  
  


_ She also didn’t know that Abraham Morgan knew full well how Dr Morgan’s fate had come to pass and, more importantly, knew how a seemingly-ordinary medical examiner had come to be the mysterious figure known as the Vanishing Dead Guy. Actually, Chuck was very glad there was a Vanishing Dead Guy, because she too, like Emerson, was terrified the Piemaker was losing control over his own mind. But she trusted Ned, and so she had believed what she had said, before Lucas Wahl had vindicated him. _

  
  


_ Right now, Lucas was visibly shaking after the revelation that the VDG had been his hero. Wanting to offer him support, Chuck gave him a hug. _

  
  


_ Much to the Piemaker’s chagrin… _

  
  


_ - _

  
  


Chuck was hugging Lucas. This was not a drill. It was not a drill, no, because it was after all, a hug. Not a drill. Or something along those lines. But Chuck was hugging Lucas, and Emerson was looking at the ceiling pretending it wasn’t happening and Ned was, Ned was the only one behaving normally right now, which was a pretty rare situation given that usually he was the one touching corpses to bring them back to life which would not be classed as normal behaviour by anyone outside the three. 

  
  


Chuck was hugging Lucas.

  
  


“Henry’s not dead. Henry can’t be dead. I mean...he’s Henry!”

  
  


All people called Henry were apparently immortal. When this had happened, Ned was uncertain, but Lucas was sure it had. Just like he was sure, despite what Emerson said, he had seen a man die before his eyes, and then vanish away into nothingness. A man who matched precisely the description of Doctor Morgan, which was good because it meant Ned’s mind hadn’t invented it. He wasn’t going crazy. Everything was fine. Well, everything was fine with one notable exception, that being the hugging of Lucas by a girl named Chuck. And Chuck could hug anyone she pleased, except...well, except Ned, unless adequate precautions were taken. There was nothing for Ned to be uncomfortable about.

  
  


“I’m so sorry Lucas,” Chuck murmured, releasing him from the hug. “These things happen to the best of us.”

“I guess you may as well take the pie,” the morgue attendant almost choked on his words, tears filling his eyes, and Ned felt a rush of sympathy for the guy, despite previous circumstances involving his apparent niceness and hugs and so on. “He never used to eat them anyway. I don’t think he was a pie person.”

  
  


_ He didn’t seem like a pie person when I met him… _ Ned thought, horrified slightly at this realisation. The concept of somebody not being a pie person was entirely foreign to him, on the same level as a dead body vanishing, if not stranger. But if there was going to be anybody on the face of the earth who was not a pie person, it sure as hell had to be the Vanishing Dead Guy, with his scarves and his furious eyebrows and his done-with-everything expression and that  _ accent _ . He thought himself above everyday things like pie.  _ Nobody  _ was above pie. Pie was life. Or...something like that, anyway. Perhaps, and Ned found it hard to even think this, perhaps he needed to get out more and find a hobby aside from baking pie and touching dead things. Perhaps he needed to find a life outside the pie hole. Reconnect with old friends like Eugene Mulchandani, do  _ something  _ without Chuck for once. He wasn’t sure. It sounded like one too many steps outside his comfort zone. Probably a bad idea then.

  
  


“Did he have any family?” Chuck asked, shooting Ned a look for some reason, possibly because he was standing there just letting this man cry due to a cocktail of three-parts social awkwardness, one part jealousy, and he tried not to let that part consume him. She didn’t glare at Emerson, which didn’t seem fair because the P.I. was  smoking his cigar again, refusing to acknowledge anyone else’s existence.

  
  


“Yeah, does he have any next-of-kins likely to give us reward money?” Emerson muttered, earning him that well deserved dirty look at last. He shrugged. “What? Man’s gottta eat.”

  
  


“Ignore him, Lucas-” Chuck began, gently touching the assistant’s arm.

  
  


“Excuse me?” interrupted Emerson “I’m stood right here, Dead Girl, you want to talk shit do it somewhere I can’t hear.”

  
  


“I believe that’s the whole point of ignoring you,” Ned whispered. “Pretending that you don’t exist and so can’t hear what they’re saying while they can’t hear what you’re saying. Kids at school used to do it all the time to me.”

  
  


“Man, I don’t need to hear your childhood issues! I just need to get paid; otherwise this whole damn trip was a waste of time.”

  
  


Ned was starting to think that might be the case anyway. What if this whole thing was one big coincidence? What if he was losing it? Dr Morgan would come waltzing in right now and probably wouldn’t even be the same guy. The VDG would turn out to be part of an improv comedy group who did nasty, nasty things with mirrors. That’s all that this was. A big practical joke. A waste of Emerson Cod’s valuable time.

“ I mean, not that I know of-” Lucas, obediently paying both Emerson and Ned no attention “But wait, there’s Abe. Abe’s basically his dad. They’re - they were - really close. And there’s Jo, as in female Jo not male Joe, you know what I mean? Oh God, I’ve got to tell Jo Henry’s dead. They were an item. They said they weren’t but they were  _ such  _ an item and now Henry’s dead and I have to - I have to - they  _ need  _ to know what happened.”

  
  


“How about we go talk to Abe for you, take him this pie, get that out of the way?” Chuck offered. 

  
  


“Go get our reward money…”

  
  


“ Shut up Emerson!” Chuck and Ned said simultaneously, and then laughed. Raising a gloved hand, the two shared a high-five and Ned felt the anxiety regarding Lucas melt away. Of course things would be okay. Things always would be. They’d finish up with this case soon enough and get back to the Pie Hole in time for Ned to bake a pie with fresh fruit that he could actually eat. Chuck, himself, hell, even Emerson Cod. Maybe they could invite Olive round, for old time’s sake. This wasn’t a disaster. Wasn’t a disaster.  _ Wouldn’t be _ a disaster. He repeated that mantra to himself inside his head as they got a cab to the antique shop Abe kept, all through the journey as Chuck changed the labels on the pie box to something less  _ seductive  _ more sympathetic. At some point, Emerson started stress-knitting, to the confusion of the rather befuddled cab driver (that was a good word, befuddled was, Ned liked that word). 

  
  


Eventually, they came to a halt outside the antiques store in lower Manhattan. It was a nice place, mysterious almost, just like the whole case. The Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy. How did the antiques shop factor in? Once upon a time, Ned wouldn’t have cared, his life was limited to work and taking care of Digby. But things had changed, for the better, except when the girl named Chuck was  _ hugging  _ people like Lucas. He really needed to get over that.

  
  


For a brief moment as he stood on the sidewalk outside the store, he thought he saw the VDG walk right past him, then he shook it off. The thing about the Vanishing Dead Guy, the really important thing, was he was  _ dead.  _ Not alive and wandering around the streets somewhere. Ignoring the gut instinct that something was amiss, Ned followed his friends into the antiques store, looking around the wonders within in dazed confusion. It was something else. A beautiful past-world lost to the mists of time. Above the door, a tinkling little bell rung cheerfully, alerting the old man who ran the place to the presence of visitors. 

  
  


“We’re closed!” the voice came, from the other room, footsteps coming nearer. And nearer. 

  
  


Until an old man with dark grey hair, holding a wine glass, came walking into the room, thick eyebrows furrowed in anger, which became shock.

  
  


As Chuck started to introduce them, the old man - Abe? - released the glass from his hands, smashing apart into cold shards of crystalline glass, rushed with the flowing scarlet of the rich red wine. All the while he was staring fixedly at Ned. 

The glass hit the floor. And coincidence took care of the rest.

  
  


-

_ Technically, coincidence is defined as ‘ _ _ a remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection’.  This is not wholly accurate. _

  
  


_ At the same time as the glass hit the tiled floor of the antiques store, Detective Jo Martinez was in her apartment, indulging herself with a glass of scotch, ready for her trip with Isaac to Paris , when she picked up the phone to a sobbing and inconsolable Lucas Wahl who told her that Dr Henry Morgan was dead. _

  
  


_ The tumbler fell from her hands, hitting the floor at the exact same time as the wine glass on the other side of town. _

  
  


_ This is the definition of coincidence - the simultaneous shattering of two glasses at once, their contents spilling out onto the hard surfaces beneath. Coincidences are far more than contrived plot devices pulled together to create a sense of symmetry and parallelism. They’re that instant freefall, as the clear glass falls towards the ground to break in perfect harmony, synchronicity. _

  
  


_ Coincidence? _

  
_ I think not. _

 

 

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEE DO YOU UNDERSTAND THE TITLE NOW? I'm wasted on you people with my comedic genius.  
> I hate my sense of humour sometimes.


	6. The Good Ship Mortinez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo is in work when Henry arrives. Meanwhile, Chuck finds a photo album which wasn't hidden well enough and discovers Dr Morgan's impossible secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I leave for Hong Kong tomorrow. For the next three weeks, there will be no chapters posted. I will return to this story after my trip. Thank you so much for your support and patience, it really does mean a lot.

**Chapter 6**

**The Good Ship Mortinez**

  
  


_At this moment, one Doctor Henry Morgan was rushing through traffic to get to work. A woman who loved him dearly, Detective Martinez, was also rushing through exactly the same traffic to reach exactly the same location. But for a different reason. For Detective Jo Martinez believed Henry to be dead, mowed down by a truck about an hour prior to this, and so she was driving into work to find out the facts, all the while praying that Henry Morgan was still alive._

  
  


_Of course, she was not currently aware that defying the basest law of biology, that being all things must perish, Valar Morghulis - all men must die, so on and so forth - was something of a specialty for the eccentric Medical Examiner, who had been drawing breath for exactly_ _235 years, six months, 10 hours, 2 minutes and 45 seconds._

  
  


_The notable adverb being ‘currently’._

  
  


_Adverbs are funny things, many writers such as a Mr Stephen King for one abhor their usage and say a ‘real writer’ (as opposed, one might surmise, to a fictional writer like Paul Sheldon in Misery by the aforementioned author) should shun such a device. Others on the other hand, take the view that little words like ‘currently’ add so much weight to a piece._

  
  


_Currently._

  
  


_What might that signify, one might wonder?_

_Currently._

  
  


_Never mind that. Right now there are more important concerns. Like Jo Martinez, running headlong into her office to open the case on the Murder of Doctor Henry Morgan, the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy.  Like Henry Morgan, running into work to solve his own murder._

  
  


_Those kinds of things. Adverbs on the other hand, don’t even factor into the situation…_

  
  


_That is to say_ _ \- currently. _

  
  


-

  
  


“Lucas, slow down,” Jo Martinez was holding herself together by a thread, ready to snap at any moment. Getting into the office was the worst, everyone staring at her because they knew, they _knew._ Hell, she’d overheard them talking. Hanson and one of his buddies, gossiping like teenage girls about Henry and Jo - or, as they’d called it: Mortinez. And Lucas constantly kept referring to them as ‘the power couple’. Which was annoying. Until she’d arrived at work today to this. God, she had been _supposed_ to be going to Paris with Isaac. _And Henry was supposed to be here._ What she wouldn’t give for one of Lucas’ appalling, poorly-timed, badly-delivered attempts at humour, rather than these whimpering, incoherent mumbles.

  
  


What she wouldn’t give for _Henry_ to come walking in all British and proper, a wry smile on his face with some reasonable explanation and a ridiculous case, like something out of one of those procedurals on TV. He always did. That was Henry for you.

  
  


He’d understood her in a way that not even Sean had. Isaac didn’t even come close. Who he was still seemed entirely mysterious, unquantifiable. Why did he have a cellar full of weird shit? Where did he pick up all the knowledge that he had? And who was the woman who had broken his heart?

  
  


All irrelevant questions now. _Dammit Henry. Trust you to do this. Trust you to get yourself killed._ At times, he had behaved like he had a death wish. Maybe he had. There was always the chance this was not an accident, not murder, but self-inflicted, like the times he took on killers with guns or jumped in front of cars...or that hazy incident on the rooftop way back at the beginning of their acquaintance. What had actually happened there? Whatever it was, it had brought them closer together only for this of all things to tear them apart. Henry Morgan. _Doctor_ Henry Morgan. Nothing had ever come of her endeavours towards him. And nothing ever would.

  
  


“Detective Martinez,” Lieutenant Reece approached, out of the crowd of sympathetic colleagues, including Hanson who, while maintaining that Henry was a weirdo, had grown to like the eccentric Englishman. “Are you sure you’re okay to be taking this case? I know you and Henry were...close.”

  
  


“We were friends, yes. And I need to get justice for him. For all the times he solved cases for us.”

The Lieutenant nodded. “He truly was a great man. It’s a tragedy. There is...no body, am I right?”

  
  


Something about the way she phrased it got Jo thinking. She shook the feeling off. “Eyewitness. Never met Henry before, no way of knowing who he was.”

  
  


_Except the pies Lucas ordered._

  
  


There was no body. Only one witness and he had promptly disappeared, apparently delivering Abe a bereavement pie. They’d have to question him properly, find out what the Piemaker saw. And they’d have to start a search for the body of Henry Morgan, that was the question. Where was his corpse? It couldn’t have just vanished, right? That wasn’t what happened. There was something sketchy about the whole business and Jo didn’t trust anything right now. Not even Lucas. Sitting down at her desk, she stared at the blank computer screen, wondering if it was okay to go home and pour herself another drink. Lately she’d been cutting down, limiting herself, but right now she wanted to have something, anything, something that would numb the pain.

  
  


A cardboard cup of coffee, placed in front of her on her desk. She looked up. Her mouth opened in shock.

  
  


“You looked like you might need-” Henry began, only to be cut off as Jo Martinez, with cold precision and a clear aim, slapped him right across the face, then, as her fury abated, hugged him tight.

  
  


Henry Morgan. Alive. Standing there in his scarves, all British and proper with a ridiculous case to throw at them.

  
  


Which really raised more questions than it did answers. Questions which were seemingly unsolvable.

The important adverb being, seemingly.

  
  


Possibly the entire precinct were staring at them, eyes out on stalks, Hanson holding a donut halfway to his mouth in shock, jaw hanging open for all the world to see his tonsils. He closed it again, nudging the Lieutenant, who turned and rolled her eyes, annoyed, apparently, at the bad intel. _Waste of police time. Lying to the authorities._ Many, many things, all colliding at once and blurring in his mind.

  
  


“They said you were dead,” she told him. “The Piemaker and his associates. Told Lucas they saw you die.”

  
  


“Ned was here?”

  
  


“You know him?”

  
  


Henry looked awkward. “He...he’s a relative of Abe’s. They’re estranged.” Her face must have betrayed something because he looked at her strangely “What?”

  
  


“Lucas sent him over to the antiques store with a pie. We need to go there now and we can charge him for wasting police time.” Picking up her coffee, Jo moved toward the exit, followed by Henry, who was collecting strange looks from everyone else in the precinct.

  
  


Because this was Henry Morgan. He was the guy who they found skinny dipping in the river, he was the guy who was supposedly murdered, then turned up only a minute later. He was a magnet for strange looks. She remembered when the evidence had pointed towards him being a murderer, way back when they’d first met. Things had changed a lot since then.

  
  


The Lieutenant stopped them as they were leaving. “Doctor Morgan. Good to see you alive. Find me that skinny lying pie-boy. And his acquaintances too. If there’s a crime here, we’re going to haul them in and find out exactly what’s going on, are we clear?” Henry nodded uncertainly. “Good. You two get over to the antiques store. Bring those three in. Especially that _Emerson Cod._ ” She sounded disdainful. “Private detectives make my skin crawl.”

  
  


The two parts of ‘Mortinez’ exchanged a look, and left, Henry seeming quite reluctant. There was something he wasn’t telling her. Wasn’t there always? This whole business stank. And Jo was damned if she wasn’t going to get to the bottom of it. She was, after all, a detective, firstly and foremostly.

  
  


-

  
  


_As one reunion took place, another was about to unfold. Abraham Morgan had locked himself in his father’s basement and was refusing to answer any of the thudding knocks on the door, sat on the other side of the room._

  
  


_Upstairs, in the antiques store, the girl named Chuck was searching through some of the rooms, picking up an old, battered photograph album and opening it on the first page._

  
  


_What she found caused her to drop the album, then, in excitement, pick it up again and cross the room. Because the girl named Chuck knew the secret, the answer to the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy. She didn’t know who had killed him or where he was right now, but she knew one thing:_

  
  


_Doctor Henry Morgan was immortal._

  
  


_Doctor Henry Morgan, their Vanishing Dead Guy,  was_ _ alive. _

  
  
  



	7. Overly Dramatic Narrator Voice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Questioning Abraham Morgan turns out to be like nailing Jell-o to the ceiling, especially when two new arrivals enter the antiques store...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...hiatus over and welcome back to this ridiculously self-referential, overly self-aware crossover fic. Holiday went well, break was welcome and I'm back to writing refreshed and with a LOT more ideas about where this fic will go. Some you'll like, others...heheheheh I think you'll have to wait and see, spoilers. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope you enjoy this long-delayed update. I'll be back to weekly updates next week. An without further ado, here we go.

**Chapter 7**

**Overly Dramatic Narrator Voice**

  
  


_(to be read in an overly dramatic narrator voice, as always)_ _**Previously on the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy...**_

  
  


_Dr Henry Morgan discovered his adopted son Abraham has been keeping secrets of his own, especially regarding the life-giving Piemaker._

  
  


_On twitter, a socially inept morgue assistant who, somewhat ecstatic that his favouritest person in the entire universe ever remained in a living state (as he had been for some 235 years or so), was sending mild personally invasive tweets regarding ‘#Mortinez’, something Lieutenant Reece would later take him aside and lecture him about because this was still a case, even if they weren’t sure exactly what they were investigating._ _ Currently _ _._

  
  


_Both parts of the Good Ship Mortinez - which by the way, is still not yet official, at least not until chapter...spoilers, I’m sorry -  were on their way around to the antiques store where Dr Morgan and Abraham both lived, and where the Pie Hole gang were crowded around a poorly hidden photo album. Now they were in possession of one secret, but there still remained innumerable other hidden truths left to uncover._

  
  


_Such as the domino which, by falling, had started off the entire chain of events leading to what we know as the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy. That being, who it was that had killed him. Was it fellow immortal Adam, whose peculiar manner of friendship really leaves a lot to be desired? Or was it some unknown agent? If so, why would they be interested in one Doctor Henry Morgan, Medical Examiner for the NYPD?_

  
  


_Could it be that there was no sinister conspiracy, it was only a hit and run after all?_

  
  


_And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything…_

  
  


_-_

Words to those effect were exactly the ones employed by one Emerson Cod to admonish the girl named Chuck’s latest insane theory. If you, the crazy-ass Dead Girl, really believed that a man could die, disappear, and turn up elsewhere the very next day, then you were crazier than previously believed. It wasn’t until she showed Ned the photo album that he nodded, confirming the identity of the man he had watched die earlier.

  
  


It was funny. For such a big secret, it had been surprisingly easy to uncover. Amazing what snooping/trespassing without permission can uncover, isn’t it? Regardless, Chuck resolved to tell Abraham - the VDG’s son? - that it was okay. She knew what keeping a secret did, especially secrets of such gravity. Especially secrets regarding death.

  
  


“Hey in there,” she called out, leaning against the door to the cellar. “Look, this isn’t what you think. We aren’t going to tell anyone.”

“Tell anyone what?” the man on the other side of the door seemed confused.

  
  


“We ain’t going to tell anyone about your immortal fancypants father,” Emerson snorted disdainfully. It was Chuck’s opinion there was probably a law obligating him to be generally disagreeable whenever the occasion did not call for it. Grieving relatives and funerals were a specialty of his, shortly followed by frightened children and anxious Piemakers. “I might not be a nice fella sometimes, but even I know that some things, people just ain’t supposed to know.” at this, he fixed Ned with a look, a look that said ‘okay, I said my bit, you pull your weight now’. A look Ned pretended to ignore, seeking solace from Chuck instead. Who promptly expressed the same look. The thing with Ned was if left to his own devices, it was questionable whether he would leave the Pie Hole. Emerson thought not.  Chuck meanwhile took the view that while Ned was an adult who could take care of himself, sometimes he required a little nudging. If anyone was qualified to talk about life-and-death secrets, Ned was one of them. That was why this time, she was taking Emerson’s side. Putting one hand behind her back, she squeezed it, imagining a world where their childhoods had never gone wrong, where they had grown up together and lived happily ever after.

  
  


This wasn’t that kind of fairy story. Undoubtedly it was a fairytale, of course, but of a different, stranger, realer sort. The sort that leaves corpses vanishing and punchlines incomplete. The sort that requires an entirely different narrator.

  
  


“Uh...hey,” Ned began, with all of his usual blundering and social ineptitude, causing Emerson to roll his eyes, possibly for the fifteenth time that day, a new personal low “I’m Ned.” There was a lengthy silence. “I met Henry. When he died. And I mean I know a lot about life-and-death secrets, but it was still a surprise when, you know, he vanishedintothinairbecausepeopledon’tnormallydothatandyoucantrustmetokeepthissecretIpromise-”

  
  


“Ned,” Chuck whispered. “Breathe.”

  
  


Her boyfriend took a deep breath “I’m really sorry about this,” he shouted - or, at least spoke at a normal volume, the Ned equivalent of shouting - through the door “We’re just trying to find out who sort-of-but-not-really-killed Henry...Dr Morgan...or what’s going on because Emerson has to be somewhere, he’s taking his daughter to the movies, so if you could come out here and we could talk, tell us what you know about Henry’s...uh, condition...please?”

  
  


The door opened just a fraction, and Abraham’s face peeked around it, single visible eye and thick, impressive eyebrows anxiously examining the Pie Hole gang, lingering on Ned with a strange sort of recognition. Looking at him, Chuck noted something almost familiar about the man, though she would have been hard pressed to say exactly what. Perhaps it was the eyebrows.

  
  


“I- I’m sorry,” the man murmured, almost inaudibly. “There’s nothing I know that can help you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  
  


Emerson’s eyeroll count upped itself to 16. Before the P.I. could say something tactless, the bell by the door rang as the door swung open and closed. Turning around, Chuck saw a confused female Detective with enviable hair, closely followed by a man in a curiously formal outfit, waistcoat, tie and suit, with a scarf wrapped around his neck.

  
  


A man recognisable from photographs as the Vanishing Dead Guy.

  
  


It was at this exact moment that Abraham used the stunned silence that had descended over the room as an excuse to lock himself inside the cellar again. His disappearance was barely noticed by anyone except Chuck. No, in the meantime, both Ned and Henry were staring at one another in almost terrified awe. Neither of them spoke, what could they say? The Detective was watching, hand hesitating near her weapon with some uncertainty; the question being, what the hell was going on? Chuck could have asked the same thing. The only one not puzzled by the situation was Emerson Cod, who lit a cigar and laughed.

  
  


“Well, looks like you’re going to have a lot to talk about,” he snickered. “If we could hurry this up, I really need to get going round about now,”

  
  


“You aren’t going anywhere until you answer my questions and stop wasting police time,” the Detective snapped.

  
  


Ned smiled awkwardly. “It’s kind of a long story,”

  
  


“He stole your line,” the Detective muttered to Henry (aka the Vanishing Dead Guy).

  
  


“How much do you know?” Henry asked Ned, ignoring his companion. His accent was truly beautiful, a refined British of the kind you only heard on TV.

  
  


“Man, that boy’s clueless about everything,” Emerson interjected. “But if you’re referring to the part where you’re, you know, not dead and _likely to remain that way_ , then sure we know about _that,”_

  
  


Henry swallowed, as if accepting a difficult fact. “Abe didn’t tell you then?”

  
  


“When he wasn’t locking himself in the cellar, he didn’t have time to tell us very much,” Ned replied. “Hi again by the way. Do you remember me?”

  
  


The Re-appearing Not-Dead Guy furrowed his eyebrows, and Chuck noted that half the people in the room were rather blessed in the eyebrow department. Odd, that. “Yes, you’re Ned. The Piemaker. Abe should have told you-”

  
  


“Quit talking about me behind my back!” a voice from the cellar yelled.

  
  


“Then come out here so we can discuss things properly,” Henry replied, rolling his eyes at roughly the same time as Emerson.

  
  


The confused female Detective appeared to give up the will to live about now, and approached Chuck, the only sane one in the room. “Detective Jo Martinez.” she offered a hand, which Chuck shook.

  
  


“Chuck.”

  
  


“Do you mind answering some questions?” Detective Martinez asked, in an exasperated manner.

  
  


“Not at all,” Chuck glanced over at the bickering men, at Ned who seemed utterly lost as ever. She shrugged. “Fire away.”

  
  


A decision she would live to regret.

  
  


-

  
  


_As a narrator there are certain sentences, cliches, that one sometimes cannot refrain from using. ‘A decision she would live to regret’ is one of those sentences, an overly dramatic expression that narrators crave excuses to use._

  
  


_But then again, far better to regret a decision than not._

  
  


_At least Charlotte Charles had that opportunity._

  
  


_Unlike some people I might name._

  
  
  


 


	8. Ned, I am your-

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Abe comes out of the cellar...and drops a bombshell, which Ned is less than pleased about. Cue Emerson Cod and his insensitivity machine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is some bad language in this chapter, mostly because I have a headcanon that Emerson is swearing internally whenever Ned opens his mouth, basically. I hope nobody has a serious problem with this.
> 
> I'm torn as to whether I should write the next chapter (yeah, it's in progress, I've got the intro done, and I'm working on the conclusion but the main part's unwritten) from either Ned or Henry's POV. It's been a while since I wrote Henry, but what do you guys think?

** Chapter 8 **

** Ned, I am your- **

  
  


_ A large portion of daytime television is devoted to a single topic; paternity. While it is widely stipulated that this sort of entertainment is ‘trash’, some would argue it offers a rather singular microcosm of society. The discussion of paternity also occupied the minds of two particularly important individuals in the room right now, Doctor Henry Morgan (aged  235 years, six months, 11 hours and 4 seconds) and his adopted son Abraham Morgan, who at this moment was  70 years, two weeks, four days and twenty-seven minutes, and aware of it thanks to the precise record keeping of the Nazis who had noted down his date of birth, next to the names of his biological parents the Weinraubs. _

  
  


_ Though at first this might seem like the paternity in question, it was not. More frightening was the presence of Ned, the Piemaker with the power to reverse death, albeit temporarily.  Abe’s own progeny.  _

  
  


_ Ned was also in possession of another powerful secret, one that Detective Jo Martinez would have been very shocked to learn. It was a matter that needed handling with tact and diplomacy so as not to give either secret away. A matter best left to one who knew the ins and outs of charm and charisma. A man like Emerson Cod. _

  
  


-

  
  


The day could not have got weirder if the rapture had begun there and then. Or if snakes had crawled out of Dead Girl’s nostrils. Or if the VDG had spontaneously combusted. How the list went on. And on. And on and on until the actual rapture, on and on and on. So first the guy was dead, right, then not dead, got it, but now Dead Girl was saying he was some immortal being who might not even be human. An alien with regenerative capabilities, yeah, whatever, he was British, wasn’t he? An Elf, sure, they were all Elves now, especially Pie Boy who bore a slight, if unusual resemblance to that Elf-King from the Hobbit (he denied it vehemently, but it was in the eyebrows). Whoever said eyes were the window to the soul had clearly never met Ned’s family, those freaky-ass magic clones with their matching eyebrows, identical to Ned’s own. 

  
  


So there was an old guy in the cellar. Where old guys belonged. Dead Girl was getting pally with Lady Cop, who seemed like a bit of a hardass (but, like, a hot hardass. Very much so) while the VDG and Pie-Boy stared at one another. When Emerson, feeling superfluous to requirement, attempted to leave, Lady Cop shot him a withering look, fixing him to the floor. His shoulders sagged and he decided to find out what the hustle was by asking Dr Special Friend himself tete-a-tete. 

  
  


“So...is there a decent explanation for this or what?” Emerson asked, as he heard Chuck going through the standard police protocol questions one by one in her usual peppy way. Ugh. Typical Dead Girl. No dampening her spirits. “What is your dead-ass doing here, what aren’t you telling us and man, what’s the deal with the old guy in the cellar because that shit is nasty?”

  
  


“Who are you?” the VDG asked, levelling his eyebrows. 

  
  


“His name’s Emerson Cod,” Ned interrupted. “How are you alive? How does it...you know?” he whispered, inaudible to Chuck and Detective Martinez “How does it work?”

  
  


“I don’t know,” Henry confessed. “What about yours?”

  
  


Emerson Cod’s eyeroll count was reaching new heights having more than tripled since the arrival of the man who was not a corpse. “Great, what is this, I’ll show you mine if you show me yours? This isn’t elementary school.”

  
  


“Thank you for your input, Mr Cod.”

  
  


“No problem.”

  
  


“I don’t know either,” Ned blurted out. “It just does. There’s rules - first touch life, second, death, but you knew that part. And the sixty second thing-” he shuffled his feet awkwardly.

  
  


“If Pie-Boy there keeps something alive longer than a minute, something else has to die.”

  
  


“Fascinating,” murmured the M.E. in an annoyingly pompous English accent that grated against Emerson’s ears. “Whenever I come back to life I always return in water. Naked.”

  
  


“I bet that’s awkward,” Emerson scoffed. Surprisingly, the VDG saw the funny side and nodded, a wry smile on his face (what wry meant, Emerson was less than 100% certain of but he sure as hell knew a wry smile when he saw one). 

  
  


“You have no idea,” glancing over at Lady Cop, the VDG shifted nervously “If we could change the topic, that would be most welcome. I need to talk to Abraham-”

  
  


He moved to cross the room, when who should stand up but Lady Cop herself, who blocked him. The Medical Examiner looked confused, but the detective stood her ground, a new fury evident on her face. What had Chuck said? Emerson glanced at her from across the room, and she shrugged hopelessly. Ah. It was like that, huh? Relationship shit, they needed a moment? Innocently, he picked up an antique vase, while Pie-Boy critically examined a beautifully carved table with intense interest of anyone listening in to a couple’s argument, all the while pretending to  _ look at the craftsmanship on this, no I don’t think floral vases are pieces of shit and I’ve never wanted to batter anyone to death with one certainly, what no, I’m not looking at you Pie-Boy thank you so much for dragging me into this. _

  
  


“What’s going on here, Henry?” she asked bluntly. “You said Abe knew Ned.”

  
  


“Abe knows me?” Ned looked up from his study of carpentry with some confusion “You must be getting confused with someone else, Ned is a common name you know, less common than it used to be but still, rising in popularity again thanks to that...that TV show you watch, Emerson, what’s it called...Musical Chairs...or something?”

  
  


“ Game of Thrones,” Emerson muttered, while Dead Girl snickered at her boyfriend’s innocence. If that naive pie-boy ever watched the epic fantasy drama, he’d probably die of shock. It had been bad enough when he’d caught an episode of Hannibal once, that had screwed him up big time and they’d had to lay down television rules, which was endearing and all but what Emerson couldn’t get his head around was the fact Ned had seen a guy who had been fried alive once, he’d seen people with their faces chewed off by dogs, but he couldn’t watch some gritty-ass drama? What the fuck?  _ Get your shit together, why don’t you? _

  
  


“Well?” Jo raised a lethal, elegant eyebrow and the P.I. had to admit if she wasn’t a cop, and presumably dating the Vanishing Dead Guy, he would go for her in a heartbeat. 

  
  


“Abe…” Henry looked around, lost, the plea for help not falling on deaf ears as his mildly inebriated, dishevelled son (now that was fucked, right there) opened the door, his eyes wet with tears. 

  
  


“At risk of sounding too Star Wars,” the older man began, smiling ruefully despite himself. “Ned, I’m so sorry but-”

  
  


“ No,” Pie-Boy cut in figuring out where this line of conversation was going a moment before Emerson did. Oh. Well, shit. “Not you. Why?” A rhetorical question to the universe, who shrugged, turned away and ignored the desperate pie-boy. His father - Abraham - tried to reach out to his son, but Henry held him back, and anyway, Ned didn’t want him to. “Stay away from me,” he spat, with surprising venom Emerson would have thought impossible from  _ him  _ “ And keep away from the twins too.”

  
  


It was as if Abe’s heart had been ripped out and stomped all over by someone wearing heavy combat boots. Before anyone else could break the stunned silence, the Piemaker turned and left, storming out of the store. Both Chuck and Detective Martinez stood up to follow, but it was the man called Henry Morgan, who had died and come back, vanished in the middle of a street, who stood up and said, seemingly to no one in particular but looking directly at Abe: “I’ll talk to him. If that’s alright with you, Detective,” he added, smiling faintly at Lady Cop, the smile strained and difficult. She nodded, and the Vanishing Dead Guy pulled another vanishing act, following immediately after Ned. Leaving Emerson, Dead Girl and Lady Cop with a very awkward, embarrassed Dad-Ned, the silence taut, heavy.

  
  


As ever, Emerson felt the need to interrupt said weighted, painful silence and say in a casual, half-hearted manner “Well, he don’t get his height from you, that’s for damn sure.”

  
  


_ - _

  
  


_ Let us engage on a social experiment here and see which character you most resemble. _

_ Did you A, try to lock yourself in the cellar again, only to be stopped by a Detective named Jo Martinez? Congratulations, you are Abraham. _

  
  


_ If you B, are entirely done with the situation and ready to go back home for a warm bath but you have a job to do and besides, you’re worried about your friend’s mental wellbeing so you stop him from locking himself in the cellar, well done, you’re Detective Jo Martinez and should be treasured. _

  
  


_ C: would you facepalm at the one liner of the abrasive Private Investigator, groaning out loud at his insensitivity, all the while worrying about the mental wellbeing of your boyfriend, and yourself if Emerson keeps talking? Chuck is basically your twin. _

  
  


_ Next up, D, if you use the resultant confusion to sneak away and take your daughter to a movie, hats off to your resourcefulness, you’re Emerson Cod. You watch some dumb cartoon with your Lil Gumshoe, but you don’t care about how stupid it was, because you’re together. _

  
  


_ And finally, E… _

  
  


_ E… _

  
  


_ if you commentate on all from above like an omniscient, omnipresent glowing cloud, top marks to you, you’re the increasingly gimmicky and intrusive narrator, who really at this point should be credited as a separate character. Right now you’re wrapping up this chapter but you’re going to foreshadow something interesting that will hook them for next chapter. That is to say: what will happen when Ned and Henry finally talk, properly, face to face (without either of them dying). _

  
  


_ Tune in next week to find out. _

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Post your answers to this personality quiz here! How did you react?  
> (I regret much)


	9. Unconventional Grandparent Skills

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and Ned talk, bonding over surreal experiences. Chuck, Jo and Abe eat that delightful peach cobbler.  
> And somewhere, an attempted murderer is preparing once again to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so the time-frame for this, is decided: between episodes 20 and 21 of Forever. They would continue with the Abigail storyline, but well, they're rather distracted with Piemakers and other long-buried secrets. I assure you, what happened to Abigail will feature in this fic, regarding Adam, his fate remains a mystery which I hope the last line helps with, tying in to events at the end of the show which may or may not be modified or borrowed here.
> 
> Also, several other secrets and mysteries will be solved. There's a lot of ground to cover so I hope I can fit all the threads in. There is no finale in sight yet, but if it gets too sprawling and nebulous, I may be forced to conclude it and tie-in a sequel, there is by far enough material. 
> 
> Anyway, please enjoy.

**Chapter 9**

**Unconventional Grandparent Skills**

  
  


_There are few things harder than abandonment. For Young Ned, being left at boarding school for the majority of his childhood left him with deep, residual issues he really needed to talk to someone about. Until the girl named Chuck came back into his life, he had nobody there to talk to, entirely alone in the world. He blamed this isolation primarily on his absentee father, and he blamed it on himself, because if he had figured out the rules of his gift earlier, his mother might still have been alive. Chuck’s father would still have been dead, mind you, but he’d have had a relatively normal childhood. Of course, he would never have been able to touch his mother again. Ever. Not even a goodnight kiss._

  
  


_But alas, events elapsed that could not be undone with a single touch, and Ned’s father left him at boarding school. If there is one thing out there that is harder than abandonment, it’s a reunion, after years apart without a single word, to discover his father hiding in the cellar of a New York antiques store, a stranger who is shorter than remembered, whose face is lined and hair, grey._

  
  


_Which goes some way to explain why the Piemaker was, currently, at this precise moment in time, hiding in an alleyway trying to catch his breath. Just when he thought he would be okay, Doctor Henry Morgan came around the corner, a rueful smile on his ageless face._

  
  


_Meanwhile indoors, Emerson Cod’s disappearance had been noted, and a girl named Chuck was trying - failing - to contact him on his cell, apparently forgetting movie theatres’ strict policy against phones of any kind (especially the Police Public Call variety, nasty things, they get everywhere you know. Literally). Detective Jo Martinez was attempting to console Abraham Morgan, at which point Chuck revealed the apology/bereavement/??? pie, a peach cobbler they all agreed it was an appropriate time to eat._

  
  


_And the two catalysts of this mystery sat down awkwardly next to one another._

  
  


**-**

  
  


Where to begin? ‘I’m sorry, but I was unaware of your existence until 58 minutes, twelve seconds ago so this is awkward’ didn’t really cut the mustard. ‘I’m your grandfather by adoption but I don’t even look old enough to be your father’ was even worse, if that was possible. For a moment Henry thought of what he could possibly say, all eloquence erased, uncertain what his next move was. The vehemence with which Ned had rejected Abe’s apology hung heavy between them, Henry well aware that he was going to be perceived as being on Abraham’s side. There - a beginning. An opening statement.

  
  


“Just so you know, I’m strongly opposed to Abraham’s actions. He didn’t even tell me you existed, let alone your twin brothers, until earlier today. I’m not sure he was even planning to tell me until I mentioned you resurrecting me...thank you for that, by the way, entirely superfluous, but a nice gesture nonetheless.”

  
  


“You’re welcome,” Ned intoned, his countenance expressionless and tired. “Though technically, I killed you again too,”

  
  


“Details...anyway, about Abe. There is no justification for that sort of behaviour, but there are reasons,” at this, Ned snorted incredulously. “What sort of upbringing do you imagine he had? A 200 year old father - yes, that’s how old I am, 235 now, 165 when we - Abigail and I, first adopted Abraham.”

  
  


“He’s not your biological son?” Ned seemed confused. “I thought maybe, well, your thing caused me to, you know, touch dead things. That. That would have made sense.”

  
  


“There is a genetic link to our family trees somewhere, way back,” Henry admitted. “But no, I’m not. Abe’s biological parents died in the Holocaust. Auschwitz.” A sharp intake of breath from Ned, embarrassment sending his face bright red.

  
  


“I didn’t know - I’m part Jewish? Chuck’s Jewis-” he began, then cut off. “I’m sorry.”

  
  


“He never knew them,” Henry sighed. “I was the only father he ever had and I love him so much,” he found his voice shaking, emotion rocking him to his very core. Memories of his argument with Abe earlier floated through his head unbidden, raw: those vicious words stabbing at his heart ‘ _they aren’t even yours’._ Looking at Ned, he felt the same deep seam of affection running like a rivet through his very being. This young man was his grandson, and he loved him. Simple as.

  
  


“What happened to her?” asked Ned cautiously. “Did she-”

  
  


“She disappeared.” That was all he was willing to say, and sudden understanding crossed Ned's face. “I – well, I adored Abigail, and her departure tore me apart. It was hard for Abe. It always was. My secret, you understand. We could never stay anywhere long unless the neighbours noticed. I've watched him grow up, grow _old,”_ the word stuck in his throat “One day I know I'll lose him. I won't have aged a day in 200 and God knows how many years – preferably many, many more – but his life will be over like that.”

  
  


Silence. Ned stared at the floor. “I'm not ready to forgive him. He left me at boarding school without a word, where I was completely alone. He abandoned the twins at a fair! I went into baking because it was the only time I was ever happy.”

  
  


Henry nodded “I understand. For what it's worth, you need to know something, something important: as Abe's son, you're family. If you can't talk to him, talk to me. You're my grandson, after all, bizarre as that may sound. You're important to me. I have time to make up for, and after Abe's gone-”

  
  


_After Abe's gone I'll have no-one._ Wait, no. That wasn't quite true. There was Jo. Jo who, in her own feisty way, deeply admired him, and he returned that feeling. More than admiration, perhaps. He wished so badly he could tell her about his condition, but he remembered the times it had gone wrong. Remembered his first wife. And he didn't want to lose Jo. That was inevitable, in time. Abigail, Abe, Jo, Ned, even Lucas, one day they'd all be gone and it would be Henry and Adam, alone in the world, the last representatives of a species long gone. Or maybe there would be others, crawling out of the woodwork, a new race, a new evolution of humanity. Funny, that, because Henry remembered when Charles Darwin first published On the Origin of Species. He _remembered…_

  
  


Another long pause passed between the two and Henry looked up at his grandson - yes, he looked up because now Ned was standing and by God that was a long way up, even when Henry raised himself to his feet too. _He didn’t get that from Abe. Now the eyebrows, on the other hand, I can see…_

  
  


“I accidentally killed my mother when I was nine. Also Chuck’s father,” Ned suddenly blurted. “I ruined my life, I ruined her life, I ruined _everything._ I guess I know what it’s like for a gift to turn out to be a curse. But now it’s more like a gift again except...well, I can never be with Chuck. She was dead. I brought her back.”

“For longer than a minute? You said-”

  
  


“Someone else had to die, yeah. And I brought her father back later, she tricked me into leaving him alive and so I accidentally killed another person...but anyway, Chuck and I can never touch. Or she dies,” Ned shifted from foot to foot. “So that’s me.”

  
  


“I have an immortal psychopath following me around and occasionally slitting my throat for me so Jo doesn’t find out about my gif- curs- _condition_.”

  
  


“One time I got trapped in a trophy room full of dead animals.”

  
  


“The NYPD keeps arresting me for public indecency after I return from the dead.”

  
  


“Um...I found a dead body floating in a vat of taffy?”

  
  


“Is that a story I want to hear or not?” Ned shook his head vigorously. “I was incarcerated in Bedlam by my wife who believed I’d gone mad when I told her I was immortal.”

  
  


“I lost my best friend when I brought some dead leaves back to life.”

  
  


And so it continued in that vein, the two swapping stories about their life, the topic of Abe put well away for some other time. At some point, of course, it would have to be raised, but right now, there were better things to talk about.

  
  


Such as:

  
  


“I once died in a train crash by getting impaled by a pole.”

  
  


“I was hired to solve a death I’d caused only to later find a dead body in the freezer framing me for murder.”

  
  


“I was accused of crashing the train I’d died in because I was obviously not dead and apparently that’s suspicious now.”

  
  


“I once was hanging off a cliff about to die when somebody saved me and I have no idea who it was so I can’t even thank them...”

  
  


-

  
  


_As to who saved the Piemaker that fateful night, one would have to look to Abraham for the answers._

  
  


_And as to who murdered Doctor Henry Morgan, one would have to dig deep, because as any connoisseur of mysteries knows - the secrets are at the bottom (or somewhere midway through chapter twenty. Either or)._

  
  


_So grandfather and grandson walked back around the corner to the antique store, preparing themselves for the inevitable conversation that was to come. At which point a gunshot rang out, turning Doctor Henry Morgan into a rather attractive corpse._

  
  


_Hearing the gunshot, Detective Jo Martinez ran outside, closely followed by a girl named Chuck and Ned’s father, Abraham, the latter of whom immediately ran over to check on his son only to find his father had both died and disappeared in the time it took for him to get outside._

  
  


_Meanwhile, Jo Martinez wanted to know where Henry was and there was no answer._

  
  


_Meanwhile, Henry Morgan, swimming to the shore in a state of undress, would find himself arrested again, on the immediate other side of the city, impossible for him to have got there in so short a time._

  
  


_Meanwhile, somebody lowered their gun and frowned. This was not going as planned. Very few dead guys did that - vanished. So what, exactly, was going on?_

  
  


_At least this clears the name of one suspect - for, the murderer of Henry Morgan was not aware he was immortal. What of Adam then? For once, it seems he is innocent. Of course, only this once. Soon he would be back to his usual hijinks - for now. Anyway, like any devoted stalker, fellow immortal Adam whose age has passed into myth, he took intense interest in anything that happened to the object of his curiosity. If someone killed Henry Morgan once, that could be ascribed to bad luck, but twice was too much like a coincidence for Adam’s taste. What if the murderer had been successful? Nobody killed Henry except Adam, that was how he wanted it to go. That was his design. No, he needed to have a talk with this wannabe assassin._

  
  


_And talks with Adam often ended up on the end of a blade._

  
  


_Henry never needed to know until after the matter was resolved._

  
  


_Wouldn’t he be grateful to his guardian angel? Wouldn’t he be pleased? Maybe he’d even help Adam with the sticky situation both of them were in. Maybe he’d be able to find a way out of their condition._

  
  


_He was, after all, a doctor._

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line - 'dig deep - the secrets are at the bottom' is a familial inside joke I've adjusted. The original line refers to a soup my great-grandfather ate and loved, going back for seconds only to be told, somewhat more memorably than my awkward phrasing 'dig deep - the puppies are at the bottom'. 
> 
> I don't know why I thought I should share this. Anyway.   
> So the plot thickens. If you have any idea who killed Henry Morgan, well, you're probably psychic, me, or the murderer themselves. It could be almost anyone. Seriously. You're going to have to (forgive me) dig deep.


	10. 'Interesting' Moral Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo tries to find out what's wrong with Henry - meanwhile Hanson interrogates Chuck and Ned. Neither really gets anywhere, but Jo does learn something quite 'interesting'...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry this is late, I've been participating in a youth thing lately so I hope this doesn't annoy you by being late. Thank you for your support and patience.

 

**Chapter  10**

**Interesting ‘Moral Dilemmas’**

  
  


_The facts were these: in a very particular police in the city of New York, 3,371 miles from the original York (hats off to America’s so-called ‘mad naming skillz’) a ‘skinny dipping’ Medical Examiner was being processed for ‘public indecency’. A number of ‘quotation marks’ were used for ‘emphasis’ during the report causing the ‘grammar-obsessed’ ‘Lieutenant’ to, and I quote ‘flip her shit’._

  
  


_Though to be fair, in the shit-flipping Olympics, she wasn’t upturning excrement quite so vigorously as one Detective Jo Martinez way, way over on the other side of town, whose quite touching concern for Doctor Morgan instilled ‘feels’ deep within the hearts of ‘fangirls’, whatever those things are. Her questions could have filled the Domesday Book, they were so extensive and of the sort far too personal and bizarre to be spoken out loud, too difficult to put into words. Would that she could, and they might perhaps go along lines such as these:_

  
  


  1. _How did Henry get from point A (that being, here, fully-clothed) to point B (naked in a river)?_

  2. _Who fired the gun earlier?_

  3. _Why?_

  4. _Where the hell is that Emerson Cod? Lieutenant Reese will be pissed._

  5. _In fact, what the hell is even going on?_

  6. _Abe is Ned’s father? Really? This is actually happening?_




And:

  
  


  1. _This all starts with an alleged murder. And a body that supposedly, what, vanished? Henry was late for work, and he seemed agitated. Something happened. There was a gunshot. Henry vanished again. Only to reappear impossibly far away. How does this all link together?_

  2. _Who is Henry Morgan, really?_




  
  


_So as Detective Martinez hauled the ‘skinny lying pie-boy’ and a girl named Chuck into the police station, she was thinking all the while about how every stone they overturned, new questions crawled out from the woodwork. She was somewhat reluctant about taking them in because, well, they were getting somewhere before Henry upped and left, on his...call it a misadventure, call it streaking, whatever you please. Without Henry, though, the atmosphere was even more tense and awkward between Abraham and the Piemaker. They would get no answers without him._

  
  


_Hence the decidedly awkward sort-of-but-not-really-arrest._

  
  


-

  
  


“Detective, when I asked for Emerson Cod, I expected Emerson Cod,” Lieutenant Reece’s voice was icy and the thermostat dropped at least five actual degrees, probably due to the less-than-stellar heating in the precinct but still, the effect was chilling, in the most literal sense of the word. “I have been trying to pin _something_ to that obnoxious, money-grabbing, menace to the police force since day one.” There was undoubtedly a story there, some case gone wrong that Emerson was behind, but Jo knew the Lieutenant was in no mood to be pressed. “Also, you need to deal with your shit. By that, I mean Henry. Hanson,” Jo’s partner looked up somewhat reluctantly from the donut he was midway through, sprinkles making a slow, suicidal descent to the floor. “You interrogate the suspects. Find out exactly what we’re going to charge them with because I for one have absolutely no idea what’s going on. Lying to the police is a start point, work from there,

  
  


“Martinez,” the Lieutenant softened slightly “I’m worried about what’s happening with Henry just as much as you are. I’ve cut him as much slack as I’m capable of. Sooner or later we’ll have ourselves a major situation - more major than it already is -  and like it or not, we’ll be hiring a new M.E. You know as well as I what Henry’s capable of, the cases you’ve solved together speak for themselves. I don’t care what you do, fix things, or a new M.E. won’t be all we’re looking for - in fact, you might even be looking for a new job. Neither of us want that, do they, Detective?”

  
  


Jo sighed and shook her head, hoping with all her heart her boss was bluffing, but also hoping that Henry would snap out of this weird shit. Sometimes he frightened her, when he got careless with his life and when he disregarded his own issues in favour of an absurd British outlook, putting on a brave face and pretending there was no problem. Why couldn’t he just tell her? Didn’t they trust one another by now? To the point that she’d told him things about Sean she’d never told anyone before, not even Isaac, she’d genuinely put her faith in his brilliance when everyone else, especially Hanson, had told her he was crazy. And maybe he was, that was the worst part of it. There was no rational explanation, or at least, nothing jumped out at her. No, actually she had it - the worst part was that when she went through that door and saw Henry sitting there, he would apologise politely, a gentleman as ever, but otherwise behave as though nothing had happened. As though there _was_ an explanation she could swallow without hearing the words ‘mental institute’. He was the most sensible and rational person she knew, except when he wasn’t.

  
  


What else was there for it but to jump in at the deep end, and hope it wasn’t populated by man-eating sharks? _Come on Henry_ she thought _please give me SOMETHING. Don’t let this be it._

  
  


_Tell me the truth. For once._

  
  


Opening the door, she saw Henry look up, an attempt at his usual charming smile (which he would deny existing but ugh did he have to do that it was mildly disarming and she was trying to be pissed at him) on his face. He was dressed in a generic baggy sweatshirt and matching sweatpants “Detective. Might I inquire as to how Abraham is?”

  
  


Jo shrugged “Coping. Which is better than I can say for you. What the hell, Henry? How is that even possible? You turned up miles away. There wasn’t enough time for you to get a taxi and anyway, that wouldn’t make any sense! And what happened to your clothes?”

  
  


Henry stopped for a moment, as if it were a question he’d never considered. “Now that’s a thought. I wonder…”

  
  


“Henry, this planet please. Tell me what’s going on.” The look of helplessness on his face cut her deep. “There has _got_ to be a logical explanation for this. Just give me something that’ll convince everyone you’re not crazy. What the hell is going on? You have met Ned before, haven’t you? But he didn’t know Abe was his father so…”

  
  


“Do continue,” Henry murmured “It seems as though like you have an interesting theory in the works.”

  
  


“It would help if you elected to contribute. You know I care about you, Henry-” she stopped herself from saying anything. Isaac. She was with Isaac. God, she’d almost forgotten. Dammit. Everything was perfect with the wealthy philanthropist, except for that nagging doubt in her mind. That feeling of uncertainty, that she couldn’t reciprocate his feelings with the same intensity - that she kept thinking about Henry instead. She’d even called off their Paris trip because it looked like something had happened to Henry. Isaac had been understanding as ever - and that was what hurt the most. She couldn’t love him in the same way. Never mind he kept _buying_ her things. “Look, it’s not just your job on the line. Lieutenant Reece threatened to fire me as well.”

  
  


“Would she actually go through with it?”

  
  


Again Jo shrugged “I don’t know, but I really don’t want to put her to the test. You know what a hardass she can be. Right now she’s pretty much furious that we let Emerson Cod get away. She’d probably transfer me to traffic or something like that. But she’s willing to draw a line under this - your last chance, by the way - because we make such a good team.”

  
  


“She actually said that? It looks like your Lieutenant is warming to me after all.” an amused smile pricked the corners of Henry’s mouth, and Jo couldn’t help but return it. “Wonders will never cease.”

  
  


At this Jo laughed “I think she has a lot of respect for you. You’ve earned it.”

  
  


“I’m sensing a ‘but’ here, Detective,” Henry raised a simultaneously sarcastic and suspicious (sarcastically suspicious? Suspiciously sarcastic?) eyebrow “Might I hazard a guess? If I continue with my aquatic exploits that respect will cease. I understand. And I am so sorry. There are... _things_ about me I can’t tell you.”

  
  


“You lied about your training. You neglected to mention going to Oxford.” Jo remembered the incident well. It had been inexplicable, Henry’s reasoning behind the omission fuzzy, though it hadn’t exactly surprised her: Henry was the cleverest man she knew.

  
  


“Exactly,” Henry nodded “Or something along those lines. It was a long time ago. A _long_ time ago.” Something about the way he said that caught Jo’s attention, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. “I’ve had an unusual life, moved around a lot by _necessity_ not of my own volition. Though yes, I would have liked to travel anyway…” he trailed off. “Don’t look at me like that, it isn’t what you think. No, really, it’s not. Look, Detective, you tell your Lieutenant that I’m terribly sorry and it won’t happen again.”

  
  


“That’s what you said last time. Henry, please,” Jo pleaded. “Please. What’s going on?”

  
  


“It’s a-”

  
  


“Long story, yes, I got that much, but what the _fuck_ is actually happening here? Why don’t you trust me?”

  
  


Henry looked at the floor and sighed deeply. “I’ve been let down by people I thought I trusted before. I know you think you can handle this, but I promise you it’s nothing anyone understands. Except myself and Abraham. It’s a personal issue, deeply so. I’d tell you now except it would only confirm your suspicions. That I’m utterly off my rocker.”

  
  


“No, Henry, I don’t-” began Jo, then broke off. “So presuming then, that you have some sort of condition, an illness, couldn’t you get it treated?”

  
  


“There is no treatment. Well, there might be, but it is yet to be- to be tested,” the M.E. swallowed nervously. “It will have to be but honestly, Jo - I am afraid.”

  
  


“Is it physical or mental?” asked Jo: her friend and colleague answered in the former “Is it terminal?” her voice took on a serious tone, remembering the surprise loss of Sean, how terrible she had felt when she had thought she’d lost Henry: how in that moment she had realised she loved him and not Isaac, but wasn’t sure how to even think about the topic. Henry was hurt, emotionally, from a previous entanglement. She wouldn’t want to ruin their truly incredible winning streak, that partnership that was stronger than anything else. So it was somewhat surprising when Henry laughed loudly - the word guffawed sprang to mind - an uncharacteristic action, as if the scenario were inherently absurd in some way. “I assume not. Will it get worse? Have you seen a doctor about it?”

  
  


“I _am_ a doctor and trust me, I know as much about my condition as anyone. There is an expert out there but he’s a rather disagreeable person and besides, he makes himself very difficult to locate. And I wouldn’t trust him with my life. There is some...conflict, between us.”

  
  


Jo nodded slowly. “So...you won’t tell me what your condition is called because I’ll think you’re crazy? If I go to Lieutenant Reece and tell her that, she’ll laugh me out of the precinct.”

  
  


“I know,” said Henry quietly “If instead you go to Lieutenant Reece and tell her the problem is resolved and it’s a personal matter which is no longer an issue.”

  
  


“That’s a lie, isn’t it Henry?” Jo tried not to sound concerned. She failed. Well done.

  
  


“Well yes, but like you said, the truth is humiliating to say the least. If you trust me to deal with my condition, I will in due course entrust you with the nature of it. Do we have a deal? And please, don’t go looking it up on those _computers,”_ he sounded almost like a grumpy, disdainful old man afraid of technology and it made Jo grin unashamedly “I assure you, there will be nothing to be found. Especially if you only know one symptom.”

  
  


“Oh, but I know two.” Henry looked baffled, and Jo decided to elaborate “Apparently teleportation is one of them. How did you get across town so quickly?”

  
  


And now Henry raised both eyebrows in mock incredulity “Teleportation? Really Detective, where do you get these ideas from? Are we done here?”

  
  


Jo smiled. “Yeah, I guess.”

  
  


All was right again. Henry was the very image of logic and reason, his behaviour, while unusual, was perfectly sane in nature. Nothing betrayed anything out-of-the-ordinary. If he hadn’t referred to this mysterious condition, she would have thought he was normal. He certainly looked normal, normal Henry. His manner was normal. She’d encountered the mentally ill before: Henry certainly didn’t act like them. As with all things involving Henry, she just had to accept it and go with the flow.

  
  


That didn’t mean, however, she wasn’t still terrified of his potential insanity, redundancy or mortality.

  
  


The latter of which, naturally, being entirely impossible.

  
  


-

  
  


_As Detective Jo Martinez gave Doctor Morgan a ride home, her partner Detective Hanson was getting nowhere with the confused Piemaker who kept getting flustered throughout the interrogation and couldn’t seem to stick to a story. This excited Hanson greatly, because it seemed guilty. It would be nice for something to finally go their way for once._

  
  


_At least, until it was pointed out by the suspect’s girlfriend - one Charlotte Charles known informally as Chuck - that dear Ned was prone to such reactions when confronted with people he wasn’t yet comfortable around and the list of people he_ _ was  _ _comfortable around numbered less than ten. Detective Hanson was not on this list. Of course, it could be a lie to cover for her boyfriend but that seemed unlikely given quite how much her boyfriend babbled. No criminal enterprise in their right mind would hire someone quite so inept._

  
  


_And so, since they could get nothing coherent out of him, and the girlfriend was agreed by general consensus to be too nice, they were released. No crime had been committed. None the police could detect, anyway._

  
  


_Which raises an interesting question - if the evidence is wholly destroyed, has a crime even been committed? If a person kills another human being, say if that being’s name is Doctor Henry Morgan and the body disappears, thus leaving no evidence, and the victim of said crime swims away completely naked some minutes later, entirely sound in body and mind, was a crime ever committed?_

  
  


_To put it more simply - if you kill a man and he returns unscathed, did you or did you not commit murder, and how should you, should the case ever come to court, hypothetically, be charged. I invite any law students to respond as best they can._

  
  


_It’s not nearly so simple as it seems._

  
_But then again, when is it?_


	11. Plat Principal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive drops a bombshell, Ned and Abe talk, and Abe gets a phonecall from Lucas...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so wow we start to cover a lot of ground in this chapter, the next few are going to be pretty hectic. Even I'm confused, so I'm really sorry if I'm late on any chapters, I've also started work on an Inception/Sandman crossover so that's a thing I'm putting time into, but this fic takes priority and I promise I WILL finish it. Anyway. Enjoy.

**Chapter 11**

_**Plat Principal** _

  
  


_As a reminder:_

_Emerson Cod - returning his lil gumshoe home after watching you know what he’d forgotten the movie already but if asked he’d say it was wonderful. He wouldn’t have been lying. Every moment with his daughter was a miracle already. With the custody case coming up, Emerson was putting in extra hours as parent to make himself look favourable in front of the court._

_Doctor Henry Morgan - at home, having been dropped off by Detective Martinez taking notes on his previous two deaths, writing up his medical forms._

_Abraham - hovering over his father’s shoulder like a concerned individual who was entirely afraid his father might permanently die if left unobserved. Also, he was hoping his father would give him some parenting advice but was too afraid to ask directly on pain of being judged._

_Lucas Wahl - at the morgue, waiting for Henry Morgan to come into work again, only for Detective Hanson to inform him Doctor Morgan had taken some time off. If Lucas Wahl had not received a call from a particular hospital regarding former employees at that moment, he might have gone to visit his hero._

  
  


_Our beloved Piemaker and the girl named Chuck - out. Having been released, they decided (or, rather, Chuck decided) to drive around the corner and have dinner at the Intrepid Cow, that is, the restaurant belonging to one Olive Mann, née Snook, and discuss the turn of events. There was rather a lot for them to come to terms with. They were just getting started - call the prior section entrees, and so we come gradually to the main course._

  
  


_Detective Martinez - now able to go on her holiday: able, but no longer willing, thanks to something called an epiphany. The definition of an epiphany is either_ _the manifestation of Christ to the Gentiles as represented by the Magi ( found in Matthew 2:1–12), or, rather more contextually accurate for this situation, a moment of sudden or great revelation of realisation. Detective Martinez had realised she could not keep stringing Isaac along out of sympathy. She resolved to tell Henry her feelings, as soon as he was feeling better._

  
  


_The definition of procrastination is ‘the act of delaying or postponing something’. This is inaccurate. It should be ‘doing one’s homework’, ‘being a writer’, or, once again, more contextually accurate ‘confessing to being in love’. Already procrastination had lost Henry once. That was not going to happen again. Detective Martinez was going to admit to her feelings._

  
  


_Tomorrow._

  
  


_Procrastinators of the world unite…_

  
  


_ Tomorrow _ _._

  
  


_Also fitting into the somewhat broad spectrum of meanwhile, one Detective Hanson headed home in severe irritation, where he would severely irritate his wife and in turn be severely irritated by his severely irritating children. Oh to be a parent._

  
  


_In this haze of meanwhiles and coincidence, both of which are not supposed to exist, yet do, an immortal Medical Examiner and a Piemaker with the gift of resurrection (well, ish), neither of which are supposed to exist, yet do, sighed. Life was over complicated. They had seen nothing yet._

  
  


_And now, of course, onto the main course. Eat up._

  
  


-

  
  


Olive Mann-Snook, or Snook-Mann (apparently they hadn’t quite decided yet) was delighted to see Ned and Chuck, as ever, pulling over a seat and leaving work to her husband. She was very much delighted to hear how Ned’s father had appeared out of nowhere. An abridged version of events had been given by Chuck, while Ned sat picking at his macaroni and cheese. This was awkward. So very, very awkward. Out of the awkward situations Ned had been in today, he was ranking them thus:

  
  


  1. Dad.

  2. Vanishing Dead Guy?

  3. Lucas hug

  4. awkward granddad talk

  5. this




  
  


“Oh my God I’m so happy for you!” Chuck blurted out of the blue, presumably in response to something Olive had said. “Ned, did you hear that?”

  
  


“What? Uh, yeah, I did. Congrats.”

  
  


“You weren’t listening, were you, Ned?”

  
  


“I...was not.”

  
  


Olive looked a little offended, but was used to Ned ignoring her occasionally and repeated herself. “I said, I’m expecting.”

  
  


Confused, Ned blinked, then decided to venture a small question. “Sorry, what is it you’re expecting?” A letter? A visitor? A velociraptor? Could she had been less specific, like, at all? Chuck rolled her eyes and laughed, while Olive seemed confused by the question itself. Just as Ned himself had been confused by the statement.

  
  


“Ned, she’s pregnant!”

  
  


Oh. Expecting _a baby.  Couldn’t she just have said that? Why did things have to be confusing?_

  
  


“So anyway enough about me, what about you, Ned?” Alarm bells rang inside his head, until Olive added “If you don’t mind.” That little detail was enough, and Ned decided to do something maybe he’d never intended to.

  
  


“Olive, something’s happened. Have you talked to Emerson yet?” she shook her head from the other side of the table and shovelled some macaroni into her mouth.

  
  


“Ned, you really need to bring some pie, I am missing the pie. I mean macaroni and cheese is great, especially our macaroni and cheese, but sometimes a girl needs Pie Hole pie!” Olive’s ability to sidetrack a conversation was second only to none. Nobody was quite like Olive Snook/Mann/whichever combination thereof when it came to talking. And talking. And talking. And, actually, not shutting up. Call it a gift. “We’ve been so busy over here that I can’t find time to visit. And you don’t really go out much so...anyway, what were you saying?”

  
  


Ned sighed. “It doesn’t matter really it doesn’t.”

  
  


“Have you guys solved any cases recently then?” Olive went onto her next train of conversation.

  
  


“We’re sort of midway through one right now. Can’t really talk about it,” Ned replied. “It’s sort of complicated. _A long story.”_ He couldn’t help quoting Henry’s mantra. “We have basically no leads except wait wait when the THING happened originally Henry said who did it didn’t matter, like he knew who it was,”

  
  


“Henry?”

  
  


“Some guy who’s friends with my father,” Ned shrugged, feeling hopelessly inadequate. Who was Henry? There was so much about him that was a mystery. “Anyway, he witnessed a thing and he pretty much said he knew who did it. But that it didn’t matter,” _Guess we know why now._ “I need to talk to him. Sorry Olive. Chuck, are you-”

  
  


His girlfriend shook her head. “You need to talk to _you-know-who_ , Ned. Olive and I have a lot of catching up to do. I’ll call Emerson, later.”

  
  


“Can I come?” Olive asked, and Ned shot a panicked look at Chuck.

  
  


“Sorry Olive, this is a private matter. We’ll...uh, we’ll fill you in at some point?” What had she said that for? Now they’d have to tell Olive. Dammit Chuck.  Just...dammit. “See you later, Ned.”

  
  


Ned drove to the antiques store and sat in the car for a solid ten, nearly twenty minutes, waiting, terrified of what might happen when he went inside. What did he actually remember of his dad? Very little, as it turned out. He remembered monopoly, and how they had never finished a game because his dad would get distracted. He remembered the occasional meal, family gatherings like Christmas, one or two. He remembered the funeral. But in his mind there were always two memories of his father that mattered: firstly being left at boarding school; and then that Halloween when, when - he wished he didn’t remember. When he thought about it like that, he didn’t really want to go inside.

  
  


There was a knock on the window which drew him out of his stupor.

  
  


“Well. Are you going to sit out here all day, or  are you coming inside? I cook a mean - well, I’m a good cook, let’s put it that way. Never did get the hang of pie though…” Abe - his father - stood outside and tried to smile. He failed. “I’m sorry, Ned. Do you want me to fetch Henry so you can talk about who keeps murdering him instead as making awkward conversation with me?”

  
  


“No,” Ned said, after a time. “We need to talk too. I’m sorry for what I said earlier. I guess I never tried to understand why you did what you did.”

  
  


“You don’t need to apologise. Your reaction was understandable. What I did was unforgivable, but I’m sorry. You don’t have to see me again, but I need you to look after Henry, when I’m gone. He’s an immortal genius but he’s also a complete idiot who needs somebody. That’s all I’m asking.”

  
  


“I’ll do that for you. But you have to promise to go see the twins. And explain everything. Well, maybe not the immortality part, I’m not sure they’re ready, but you know what I mean.”

  
  


“It’s a deal,” Abe - Dad? - actually grinned, as he shook his son’s hand, helping him out of the car and directing him downstairs to the basement. “You can bring Chuck around for dinner sometime - it’s nice to see you’re still friends, by the way, after all this time.”

  
  


_No thanks to you_ part of Ned, the bitter, angry part, thought, but it was swiftly suppressed by the rest of him. He couldn’t hold grudges for long, no matter how hard he tried, how deep and festering his anger was, it drained away in time leaving him awkward and somewhat sheepish. As per usual.

  
  


In the basement, there were all kinds of bizarre paraphernalia, strange things in jars and models and...Ned wasn’t sure how to describe literally any of it. Henry himself was sat at a desk taking some notes down. He glanced up when they entered and a small smile flickered on his face when he saw Ned, getting along nicely with Abraham and nobody killing one another.

  
  


“Who killed you?” Ned asked, and his sort-of-grandfather frowned.

  
  


“I thought it might be Adam but...I don’t know. If it was him, then he was just doing it because he can...I would have believed that once, but twice? And he would have called me, or sent a gift. It’s not Adam.”

  
  


“Who’s Adam?”

  
  


“Oh, some other immortal who keeps stalking Henry,” Abe replied jovially “And kills people without remorse _because he’s a psychopath_! He doesn’t need a reason to kill you, Henry. You can’t trust him.”

  
  


Henry shook his head. “He’s left me alone for a while now. When Adam gets in touch, he has reasons. He wants me to be afraid of him, but he wants us to be friends. Sort of. It’s complicated.” He looked down at the floor, then looked everywhere except Abe. “We have absolutely no idea who else might want me dead. But now that it hasn’t worked twice, they know my secret. That’s important.”

  
  


Upstairs there was a phone-call, which Abe rushed to get.

  
  


“We’re having a strategy meeting at the Pie Hole, if you uh...wanted to come? To see if we can figure out what’s going on.”

  
  


“The Pie Hole...is that the heinously shaped building with a pie crust on it? Oh, I’m sorry, that was rude. At least it’s not so bad as the ‘Intrepid Cow’, I think it was called.”

  
  


“A friend of ours runs that restaurant,” Ned admitted.

  
  


“Of course they do,” Henry rolled his eyes. “I’ll come. Believe it or not, I don’t much care for dying repeatedly. It’s not as enjoyable as it sounds, and it doesn’t sound very enjoyable to begin with, unless of course one is a fan of this ‘heavy metal’ scene that Lucas described to me...and even Lucas knows where to draw the line... _at least, I hope he does._ ”

  
  


At this point, Abe came rushing downstairs, delight written all over his face. “Henry!” he exclaimed, a proud grin on his face “I found Mom!”

  
  


-

  
  


_A slight alteration to a timeline causes significant effects to dominoes further down the chain. Things have changed, and so they happen differently, in places that they didn’t occur before, but still, there are consequences for every action, no matter how small. A butterfly flaps its wings._

  
  


_This causes absolutely no storms anywhere, but at least the butterfly has moved through the air using physics. On another note, as the news of Abigail Morgan’s whereabouts - or a clue to where she might be - surfaced, Henry would have declined the invitation to the Pie Hole had Ned not pointed out that pooling their resources might work better - and besides, Emerson Cod was a professional private detective, he’d be able to pull some strings and access records more efficiently. He might even stop complaining for half a second or so, but there could be no promises on that count._

  
  


_And so Ned, Abraham and Henry made their way over to the Pie Hole, followed closely by said Emerson Cod. The girl named Chuck bid goodbye to her friend Olive Surname-Undecided and made her way over to the Pie Hole, followed closely by said friend, who was not about to pass up an opportunity to dig deep into a mystery. Even if she had to do some detective work of her own…_

  
  
  



	12. First Meeting of the Supersecret Murder Committee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Olive Snook attends the first meeting of the supersecret murder committee and listens in as they plan their dual investigations into the disappearance of Abigail Morgan and the titular mystery of the vanishing dead guy. Meanwhile, Adam is on the trail of the murderer of Henry too, and more worryingly, he is getting closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys for all your support so I'm rewarding you with EARLY CHAPTER. Just this once though. This is a bit longer than the other chapters, but I'm quite pleased with it. I hope you like it. It'll be really weird. There's some absolute gems of lines I am proud of writing. It's lovely. Anyway, here goes.

**Chapter 12**

** First Meeting of the Supersecret Undead Murder Committee **

  
  


_ The relationship between life and death is as ever, sketchy, if it can be considered a relationship at all. Sometimes the line hazes, blurs, and anomalies crop up, outliers that should not be counted. Statistical irrelevancies. It’s more common than you might think - a teenage girl who can’t touch others without killing them, a weather forecaster who relives the same day over and over, a recurring pattern not even death can break; people who, when they die, are taken elsewhere and reborn. And others too, whose position in time as a fixed point means death might hold no sway. It’s more common than you might expect. Myriad immortals bicker and fight and - ‘there shall be only one’. Neither the 235 year old Medical Examiner nor the 2,000 and some former slave of Julius Caesar, are by any means unique. Immortality comes in many flavours, and their condition remains  _ _ only one.  _

  
  


_ Life and death  _ _ blur _ _.  _

  
  


_ A girl named Chuck is brought back from the dead; as consequence, a crooked funeral director dies. A mysterious corpse ups and leaves. A voice, as if from the heavens, narrates it all. At this exact moment in time, it informs you, Olive Snook was 33.378684 years old and she was very much intrigued by  several things, as she hid herself away under the counter of the Pie Hole. Or rather, she  _ _ is  _ _ that exact age, and it is happening  _ _ now  _ _ , seemingly omniscient voice from the heavens converting the story into past tense because let’s face it, it’s far more pleasing to read, am I right? _

  
  


_ The fact of the matter is, that these events are still underway. Right at this exact moment, as your eyes pass over this line, or your audio-playback reads you these words, or your trained bonobo Bobo (who is actually a capuchin monkey but politely requests you respect their life choices) performs it to you in interpretive dance...right at this very moment, one 4’11’’ (or 150cm in metric) macaroni-cheese-making amateur singer is actually crouched under a desk waiting. For her, life and death are two separate things, aside from one memorable incident with a carrier pigeon. But as she crouches under that counter, something she will hear will cause those lines to blur, and her certainty to rock: shaken, but not stirred. _

  
  


_ And meanwhile, a dance of cat and mouse between killer and  _ _ killer  _ _ has begun, Adam carefully on the trail of the murderer of Doctor Henry Morgan, the murderer of Henry Morgan making frantic telephone calls to an interested third party, yelling down the phone about the event that had just occurred - if you listened closely, you might hear the words ‘did you know about this _ ‽ ’ _ , interrobanged, before the interested third party, let us call them  _ _ variable n,  _ _ our nth variable in the equation and orchestrator to this gruesome little affair, hangs up without a word.  _

  
  


_ And meanwhile Olive Snook is hiding under a counter, entirely unaware any of this is happening. _

  
  


_ For those familiar with the way synchronicity works, you know what the important adverb here is. Fill it in here, if you may _________________ _

  
  


_ For those who are less sure of themselves, allow this strange voice to remind you, the word is currently, and it means important things are about to occur.  _

  
  


_ The important, nay, essential, nay,  _ _ critical  _ _ adverb being -  _ _ now. _

  
  


-

  
  


There were times when Olive wished she was taller: when reaching high shelves, when driving, when visiting Disney World; literally every conversation she’d ever had with Ned. And there were other times when she was grateful for her petite stature. Like now. When she was curled up under the counter of the Pie Hole, having snuck in using her back door key, which she’d never given back when she’d returned the keys to the  _ front  _ door. She’d crept inside while the Super-secret plotting-behind-Olive’s-back club were distracted poring over some mysterious documents, getting into the kitchen through the back door and crawling to her current hiding place under the counter. The Super-secret club, who she had originally suspected were actually a surprise baby shower planning committee, were deep in discussion about  _ something,  _ Emerson’s voice loud and clear over the others, complaining about the coffee and about the two strangers, one of whom Olive guessed was Ned’s dad, the other…

  
  


British. Wordy. Actually kinda cute, not that Olive was paying attention, though being a married woman had done nothing to hurt her eyes when she’d peeked through the windows before her infiltration began. She’d wondered, at first, if he was the party planner, but he didn’t seem like the type. In fact, he seemed exceptionally annoyed with something, presumably Emerson.

  
  


“Mr. Cod, if you wouldn’t mind, we have business to address, hence this...what exactly is this?”

  
  


“The Undead Murder Committee,” muttered Emerson.

  
  


“That makes us sound like serial killers!” Chuck pointed out. “If we need a codename, let’s be Olive’s baby shower planning committee. That way we can deny any of her questions.”

  
  


“Who’s Olive?”

  
  


“A good friend,” Ned replied, and though Olive had to strain her ears to hear it, it warmed her heart so completely “Used to work here.”

  
  


“This isn’t the same friend who owns the catastrophic eyesore that is the Intrepid Cow, is it now?”

  
  


Offended, Olive had to almost physically restrain herself from standing up and confronting the British guy loudly. She covered her mouth with a hand and breathed slowly, gradually regaining composure. Nobody talked dirt about the Intrepid Cow within her earshot, it was the first rule of kooky restaurant club (after don’t talk about kooky restaurant club) - don’t bitch about the Intrepid Cow unless you want yourself taken down not just a peg or two, but an entire  _ ladder _ . But she had to let them continue, because she needed to know what they were so keen to keep her out of. She’d been so pleased to see Chuck and Ned again, they’d even got the friends and family discount, and when she’d heard they were keeping her out of things - but Emerson was allowed in the Super-secret Club, and not her - she was so sure it was a surprise for her. What were they hiding?

  
  


“Yeah, that friend,” Ned said. “Anyway, that’s not relevant to the plan.”

  
  


“ Oh, there’s a plan now is there? Go ahead, Pie-Boy, fill me in on when  you  actually came up with an actual plan. No really, I’m curious.”

  
  


“My plan was to...uh, delegate and let someone else think of the plan,” Ned admitted “I was kind of counting on it, actually. Emerson, since you’ve got so many ideas why don’t you give us your version of events from now until we solve the cases.”

  
  


“Cases? Plural?” Emerson sounded stricken “So I’ve got to waste my time-”

  
  


“ Abigail is  _ not  _ a waste of time,” the Brit snapped, furious. “So far as I see, the only one wasting time here is you. We have investigations to conduct. Firstly, the disappearance of my wife Abigail Morgan, some thirty years ago,” Olive’s breath caught in her throat: this man was older than he looked. He  _ looked  _ in his thirties. So how old was he? There was a silence, and the undercover ‘agent’ wondered if she’d been caught out. Then the British guy started to speak again. “We have her place of work after she vanished, and the alias she was using: ‘ _ Sylvia Blake _ ’  Her two favourite poets. We need to go to her last address and check if anyone remembers her. Abe, myself and...Ned, will you come? Emerson, Chuck, you handle my two murders.”  _ Two murders? That he’d witnessed? Committed?  _ “ Find out who keeps killing me.”

  
  


“See, this is why I suggested the Undead Murder Committee. VDG here can’t die, and Pie-Boy brings things back from the dead. Come on, it’s catchy!”

  
  


That was it. Olive Snook was done listening. She stood up, quite forgetting she was crouched under a counter, and hit her head hard on the surface above her, with a loud thud that sent her sprawling onto the floor. When she sat up, the Undead Murder Committee surrounded her, Chuck helping her up while Ned was frantically trying to backtrack on what Emerson had said.  _ Bringing things back from the dead. _

  
  


“Pidge…” she murmured, half-consciously.

  
  


“Careful, I think she might be concussed. I’m a doctor.” the British guy smiled reassuringly “Concussion can be confusing...one thinks they’ve seen or heard things that simply aren’t possible. How do you feel?”

  
  


“Hey, my head might be hurting but I know what I heard. You -” she pointed at the doctor and narrowed her eyebrows “You’re the one who can’t die, the VGD-”

  
  


“ _ Vanishing Guy Dead?” _ Ned, Chuck and Emerson asked in unison, somewhere far away.

  
  


“Whatever! He can’t die, and you, Pie-Boy, you’ve got some talking to do.” she staggered shakily, swaying slightly, clinging all the while to Chuck’s arm. “Thanks Chuck. Look, explain to me what your super-secret murder committee’s doing and why you aren’t planning me a surprise baby shower?”

  
  


“Like Henry said,” Ned’s father replied “You’ve probably got concussion.”

  
  


“Yeah? And you’re Ned’s dad. I know you are. You can’t even deny it because I know the truth! You lot are a bunch of scheming...schemers!” she turned to Emerson and, as an afterthought, climbed up onto a chair to meet his eyes “Come on then. Spill it.”

  
  


Emerson rolled his eyes and sighed “Okay, but forewarning, none of this makes any goddamn sense like I thought I’d seen some shit in my time, then I met Pie-Boy and everything was suddenly new again.” Henry and Ned, who were objecting, suddenly fell quiet, understanding passing between them silently. Then, just as I start to get comfortable with the way of things, it all goes throwing itself out the window and suddenly, you’ve got corpses that don’t stay corpses-” here he shot Henry lethal side-eyes “And when they die they pull a sudden strip-tease and teleport off to go skinny-dipping, which is pretty much as weird as it gets. Like, what even happens to the clothes? Is there some stockpile somewhere of everything you wore when you died? Anyway, so that’s that. He’s 235 years old and sort of Ned’s grandfather but it’s complicated. Oh, and Ned here can bring things back from the dead but there’s some weird-ass time limit whose idea even was that it’s pretty stupid if you ask me, Chuck actually did die that one time Ned brought her back to life but some other guy had to die because that’s what happens if you break the time limit, so far as I know Ned’s father’s a normal guy but I’m sure he’s probably got laser vision or can read minds or some shit who even knows these days, and as for me, I sure as  _ hell  _ do not get paid enough to be here can we just raise that point with the committee: I need a raise.”

  
  


Head spinning, Olive stepped unsteadily down from the chair and sat down, clutching the table and breathing frantically. “This is not happening. Okay okay this can’t actually be happening I mean-”

  
  


“Laser vision? I wish.” Ned’s father muttered sarcastically 

  
  


“You lied to me,” Olive’s voice shook “I thought you were my friends, but all the time you’ve been keeping secrets. Why didn’t you tell me? Ohmygod, are you aliens? Is that it? Are you aliens?” 

  
  


Ned shrugged, the way he always did, shoulders hunched, curled over “No, Olive, neither of us are aliens. And you  _ are  _ our friend and I mean, I don’t exactly say that often…” He trailed off, shifting awkwardly “Can you imagine starting that conversation? You’d think we were crazy. That I was...a freak, or a mutant, or  _ something. _ I mean  we couldn’t just say - well, Emerson just did, but he’s Emerson - but I wouldn’t know where to start.”

  
  


“How about you fill me in on the cases and let me join your Super-Secret Undead Murder Club - Committee - Thing? So Henry, right, is it?” the Brit nodded “And you’re Ned’s grandfather, got it. Not weird at all. So you were saying you got murdered. Twice? This happen often?”

  
  


Henry pulled a face and shook his head, while Ned’s father (she really had to learn his name) nodded vigorously “This is...not a good day. The first time I was bowled over in a hit-and-run attack, the second a sniper shot me down in the street. Actually, you should find the sniper’s perch. Judging from where the bullet penetrated my skull-” Emerson snorted, and now it was Henry’s turn to death-glare him. “I really don’t understand the hilarity of  _ literally dying.” _

  
  


“Nothing, you just said ‘penetrated’.” Emerson smirked “You may have missed something in the past 200 years, but that’s not exactly a great word to use, especially not when referring to skulls.”

  
  


“ _ ANYWAY,  _ the sniper was somewhere across the street, directly opposite Abraham’s antiques store.”  _ Abraham. That was it.  _ “ So check the roofs, and oh, on second thoughts, Ned, did you get the plates of the homicidal vehicular deathtrap that killed me the first time? I was rather too busy getting murdered to pay particular attention.”

  
  


Ned shook his head ruefully “It was going too fast for me to see. The uh vehicular deathtrap was a van, black, with a busted tail light. Left.”

  
  


“What make?” Abraham asked. 

  
  


“I don’t know. One of those big square vans. Maybe a Ford.”

  
  


“Like literally every van ever,” muttered Emerson. “Okay, okay, I know some fellas at the DMV. I’ll call them. Itty-Bitty, you and Dead Girl are with me, checking out the sniper. Ned, Old Ned and...even older Ned, you three go check out your lead on -” he stopped “I can’t even think of a nickname under pressure that’s how much this is affecting my concentration can everything please just go back to normal okay, Dead Guy, stop Vanishing, you catch my drift?”

  
  


“Loud and clear,” Henry beamed, as if intentionally trying to drive Emerson insane, which was pretty much the greatest thing ever. It was working too. The Private Eye seemed at least 1000% done with everything, actually pretty decent for him given that Olive had estimated his done-levels at over 9000 before now. “I’ll drive.”

  
  


Abraham snatched the keys from him quickly “No way am I letting you anywhere near my car. Unlike you, Henry, some of us are mortal,” he exchanged a look with Ned “You do not want to see him driving, let me tell you that.” 

  
  


A faint smile crossed Ned’s face. As his newfound relatives headed to the car, he turned to Olive “I’m sorry we couldn’t tell you. You’re actually handling it pretty well.”

  
  


“Only ‘cause I think I’ve gone completely doo-lally, but otherwise, it’s all just peachy. I mean, it’s a lot to take in…” she trailed off “But aside from the dead-not-dead stuff, this is a perfectly normal case, and I miss that.”

  
  


And Ned was gone. 

  
  


“Should you be doing this stuff in your condition?” Chuck asked, frowning. Before Olive could say Jack Robinson, Emerson had cut in with his opinion. 

  
  


“My momma was working cases right up until the moment she popped me out. Actually, I was born at a crime scene, delivered by the M.E. and a cop who kept fainting. After I was born, she handed me to the lead detective and went on to chase the perp down and wrestle him to the ground in a busy street.” 

  
  


Whether or not that story was true or not, Olive had no idea, but it made her smile; the thought of baby Emerson being rocked back and forth by a confused homicide detective. It meant things were back to normal now, hanging out with the Pie Hole gang and solving crimes. Well, to be sure, some things had changed, but Olive didn’t mind that so much. They were a  _ family _ . No matter how much Emerson complained and insisted he was pretty damn glad he wasn’t related to anyone so incompetent, deep down he cared.

  
  


“No, seriously, I wasn’t joking about the raise.”

  
  


Well. Mostly.

  
  


-

  
  


_ As Doctor Morgan and his half of the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee headed out to Tarrytown to the last known residence of one Sylvia Blake, they were completely unaware of what they were about to find. All of Doctor Morgan’s grave digging experience resurfaced when he saw a shallow, sunken grave and his fears were realised when a skeleton emerged (or, rather, was dug up. Emerged sounds rather more apocalyptic). The police were summoned, and Detective Jo Martinez insisted on being present, to the irritation of her partner Detective Hanson who, while he didn’t exactly want to go on a skiing holiday with his family, he was caught in the catch-22 situation of not wanting to go into work either. Ah, the dilemmas of middle-class America. Aren’t they a delight? _

  
  


_ Meanwhile, Emerson Cod’s buddies at the DMV had turned up a veritable list of potential vehicles Ned and Henry would have to pour over in order to find the homicidal vehicular deathtrap in question. Now the Private Detective, a girl named Chuck, and Olive Mann-Snook-Snook-Mann-delete-whichever were all on there way to find a sniper’s nest. _

  
  


_ They weren’t to know that an immortal psychopath calling himself Adam had found the perch first, the distinctive marks where a rifle bipod had been set out. He lay down and, by careful study and estimation, calculated the more than probable murder weapon - he knew what he’d choose anyway, good military hardware, meaning the killer was more likely than not a former soldier. A killer for hire. Well. Adam knew those circles, he could make a few calls to some  _ _ pals  _ _ in the assassination circuits, see if there were any snipers-for-hire with a history in the American armed forces.  _

  
  


_ On the street a car pulled up, and Adam recognised two of the three people from their earlier visit to the antiques store. Presumably they were also looking for the sniper, as the square-shaped bald African-American male pointed up at the rooftops, checking potential lines of sight. He was doing well, Adam had to give him credit, but he also couldn’t have anyone else getting to the killer before him. Standing up, Adam scraped a foot across the markings left by the rifle, erasing them completely. _

  
  


_ There. The case was his.  _ _ Henry  _ _ was his. He had to go make a few calls. _

  
  


_ As, apparently, do I. Narrating is thirsty work, keeping the dramatic tone of voice going, you know how it is. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to go get some takeout. Au revoir. _

  
  


_ Be good while I’m gone. _

  
  


 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're interested, the Narrator got hot wings and fries, with a side order of pepsi.


	13. The Night in Question

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A clue leads Henry to the murderer of Belinda Smoot, and then, in turn, to a truth he wished he never had to face. He also discusses parenthood with Ned, and in the background, somewhere, Olive Snook is singing, much to Henry's consternation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy, here we go, down the rabbit hole. This week you've got a treat in store - not only this one chapter, but THREE. That's right, today, tomorrow and Sunday, you get a chapter to read, and there's some bombshells on the way trust me. This chapter deals with episode 21, in its own way, before the story takes its own turning. And I sincerely hope I don't disappoint. Thank you so much for your support as ever, and I promise you, we're nearly done. I'm not sure how many more chapters I've got left after my next two updates, at least two or three, and then an epilogue, possibly some other material because I've loved smushing everything together like this, it really has been a delight. Once again, thanks guys, it's been amazing. I'm gushing now so I'll stop. And on with the show.

**Chapter 13**

**The Night in Question**

  
  


_By the way, I’m back. Got myself some hot wings and a pepsi. Now where to begin? To be fair, a lot happened while I was away. It would potentially fill a 40-minute episode slot but in summary, let us begin with a young woman called Belinda Smoot._

  
  


_The facts were these:_

  
  


_At this moment, Belinda Smoot has been dead for over 30 years, with the anniversary of her death coming up in four months, two weeks, two days and half a minute. Aside from her taste in boyfriends, she was a sensible girl, and indeed it was the plurality of these boyfriends that turned out to be her downfall. One of them, who would go on to be a well-known Judge for New York City, was currently being questioning by a Detective Jo Martinez and Doctor Henry Morgan. The other, well, it was the other who killed her, an officer for Tarrytown Sheriff’s department, burying her in the garden belonging to an elderly nurse, who he watched go off in a car and did not see return._

  
  


_These are established events, these are what happened. One night Belinda Smoot was out at a party with her unofficial secret not-yet-judicial admirer. A car accident, during which they crashed into and severely wounded a stranger on a motorbike, and broke Belinda’s collarbone. At hospital she was treated by Sylvia Blake, who as we know was a pseudonym used by Abigail Morgan. This was where her doom was engineered - she saw her aggressive other boyfriend bringing in the injured biker. An understanding passed between them, and Belinda, out of fear, fled to hiding with Sylvia Blake (aka the long-lost Abigail)._

  
  


_What she never knew was the fate of the biker. In fact, no one did, after his medical file went missing, its absence discovered approximately five minute ago by Detective Mike Hanson. Naturally, the biker had died, after imploring for relief from the same kindly nurse, asking her to put him out of his pain. He told her one thing. He told her that he was an immortal, that when he died his body would disappear. Any other nurse would have believed the man’s brain was damaged but Sylvia Blake, Abigail Morgan, she recognised the story from Henry’s own. The recognition showed on her face - Adam knew she had heard his story before - and after that death, vowed to find her. Obviously, he had to make his way to shore, but he knew that woman knew something, what he did not know. So he set out after her._

_So Belinda Smoot’s boyfriend set out to find her. He pulled some strings, found the old woman she had gone home with. When he saw his girlfriend, the two argued and he killed her, entirely by accident but the thing about death is, the dead do not care about intention. They can’t afford to, being dead. Hiding out, he watched the old woman Sylvia/Abigail leave in a car with a man, a man he would have recognised were he covered in blood and swollen flesh, miraculously healed post-mortem. He heard the landlady knock, waited for her to go. And then he buried Belinda Smoot in a shallow grave, thirty years ago. All those days unlived. All those moments, rotting away into the ground. Stories untold. Nothing makes up for the lack of stories. Perhaps I’m a little biased, as the narrator, but it is the theft of stories that cuts deepest._

  
  


_Abigail Morgan on the other hand lived a long life, yet that does not mitigate her fate. She died. And there were moments she should have lived, with Henry, and with Abraham, and even with Ned. It was her fate that occupied the mind of Doctor Morgan, her fate that drove him to threaten and assault a judge, clouded his judgement even as he investigated the death of Belinda Smoot._

  
  


_He couldn’t explain to Detective Martinez what Abigail had meant to him, why he was so worked up about it. Keeping Jo away from the other part of his life was important. He couldn’t explain to Lucas why he had a secret lab, though Lucas did not seem surprised, more delighted, elated,_ _ enamoured _ _. As Emerson, Olive, Ned and Chuck went over suspect vehicles in his basement laboratory, Abe searching through Abigail’s box of things, Henry pacing nervously, at a loose end. In actual fact, he was entirely correct to be nervous, for sooner or later, his two lives would collide._

  
  


_And that’s about all that happened while I was away. Now, if you don’t mind, I’ll vaguely foreshadow events that are to come like so - *inserts generic foreshadowing here* - and we are away. Into the ever-closer future, where we know who killed Doctor Morgan._

  
  


_What started the ball rolling when, for want of a better thing to do, Henry Morgan picked up a book of poetry, a book of memories, and a letter fell out. In that moment, he knew Abigail was dead._

  
  


_And so the future begins._

  
  


-

  
  


He stared. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to make the words focus, to mean something more than scrawl, hieroglyphs. Dimly he was aware of Abe asking him a question from somewhere very far away - possibly Bolivia, or Fiji, or to hell with it, that planet way, way out, the one that wasn’t a planet anymore, that he had seen discovered then disinherited almost within the blink of an eye. Or perhaps it was Henry who was out there on Pluto, as he heard Abe say ‘Earth to Henry, Earth to Henry’ and felt the bubble, the potential reality that might have been, that Abigail had wanted, abruptly burst.

  
  


“We’ve got a shortlist of cars, figured we might need someone with your eye to detail to go over them.” Abe frowned. “You okay, Dad?” As a rule, Abe abstained from addressing his father as such except in privacy, and even then only in particular circumstances: when he was concerned. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

  
  


“To be perfectly honest, Abraham, it feels somewhat like I have. Look at this,” he passed the letter over to his son. “It’s a letter from Abigail, dated April 1985. She goes on and on describing her cottage, and her flower garden, and root cellar down by the river, saying that she wanted us to be a family again. Don’t you see? It means she never gave up on us,” he tried to quell the rising feeling inside, the little voice of reason picking apart his immaculate dream. The look Abe gave him now.

  
  


“But that’s not all it means,” he said, quietly, and Henry acquiesced, nodding sadly. It was then that Ned came into the room.

  
  


“Hey uh, Abe...uh, Dad...uh um hey Henry do you want to give our list a once-over just to see if we can find out who sort of murdered you and-” he cut off abruptly “What’s wrong?”

  
  


“We - found a clue about Abigail.” Henry murmured. “A letter.” Ned, being family, was permitted to see the contents of said letter, and he read it quickly before passing it back to Henry, as though it would burn him if he held it for too long. “She never sent it. Something terrible must have happened. Something-”

  
  


Thoughts slotted into place. One place that was never searched, after they’d found Belinda Smoot’s bones. “The root cellar. Nobody’s searched it. I should go have a look.”

  
  


“I’m coming too,” Ned said immediately. “I know I never knew Abigail, exactly, but I want to know what happened to her just as much as you do.”

  
  


“Who’s going where?” Chuck piped up, appearing as if from nowhere behind the sofa.

  
  


“Henry and I are - I mean, if it’s okay?”

  
  


“Can I come?” the incessantly cheerful girl beamed brightly. She was nice, fitted Ned perfectly, a complementary fit, with the confidence and exuberance that he lacked. Together they were obviously right for one another, and Henry couldn’t help but feel proud. Another generation. True, he didn’t look much older than them, but still. Anyway, he couldn’t take Chuck with them this time. If she came, then Olive would insist on tagging along, followed by Emerson, then Abe wouldn’t want to be left out and they’d all be squashed into a tiny car, though they could probably fit Olive in the trunk...wait why was he contemplating the logistics of this? No it was not happening, he was not taking the entire Russian circus (plus Abraham) with him. He certainly didn’t want the _privilege_ of Emerson’s company for any longer than necessary.

  
  


“I’m sorry Chuck, but this is personal. I’m only taking Ned because- well, if the person who’s trying to kill me comes along, I might need some muscle.”

  
  


From the kitchen came the sounds of a 6’4’’ African-American private detective choking on his coffee in incredulity. It is a very specific noise, and not one easily recreated.

“Ned? Muscle? What does immortality do to you that messes up your head so bad you’re either a psycho nutbag or someone who thinks Ned constitutes muscle? And can I have some of that ‘cause, I need to disconnect from reality about now and fly away to join the unicorns because I-”

  
  


“WE KNOW!” Everyone in the room, Henry and Abraham included echoed, and you could hear the shrill voice of Olive from the kitchen joining in “YOU DON’T GET PAID ENOUGH!”

  
  


“No need to get touchy about it, I’m just sayin’. Jeez.”

  
  


When the P.I. finally stopped complaining, Henry managed to detach himself and start the beginning of his exit, which was routinely delayed by, among other things, Chuck asking him questions about his deaths, Ned insisting he was definitely, definitely going to drive, the discussion as to whether Lucas or Jo could be inducted into the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee and at one point, Olive launched into an impromptu musical number that Abe insisted on playing along to on piano. Piano? Or paino? That was the question now, wasn’t it? By the time he and the Piemaker had extracted themselves from the room, they’d got onto the second chorus and Emerson was begging to come along, pleading with them even as Ned rolled the window of the car up and drove away.

  
  


The drive to Tarrytown was quiet, Ned focusing intently on the road, Henry giving the occasional direction. Otherwise, silence. Then, out of the blue Ned asked: “So how did you meet Abigail?”

  
  


“Second World War. She was a nurse, I was a doctor. The rest, as they say, is history.” part of him was still unwilling to elaborate, knowing she was, likely as not, dead. He didn’t want to think about. But he had to. _For her._

  
  


“How long were you together for?” Ned asked, intrigued.

  
  


Henry smiled sheepishly “Over 30 years. We raised Abe to adulthood, to the point where I couldn’t pass for his father anymore and people mistook me for Abigail’s son. That’s when she disappeared.”

  
  


“Must’ve been hard for her,” Ned took a left turn, not so much as glancing away from the road. “Not being able to be together,” his words carried the weight of experience, his own relationship with Chuck hanging heavy between them. “I mean, Olive’s married, and she’s having a baby now and I could - I could never do that. What if she decides to, you know, pull an Abigail, disappear off the face of the Earth?”

  
  


“Chuck would never do that to you, Ned.”

  
  


“You didn’t think Abigail would until she did,” the younger man pointed out, before blurting “I’m sorry, that was harsh. I didn’t mean to be harsh,” and apologising so profusely Henry felt embarrassed for him.

  
  


“It’s fine.” You couldn’t really take offence at Ned, he was so awkwardly sincere sometimes you wanted to make him as welcome as possible and be outrageously nice, family or no. “Besides, there’s marvellous things they can do with modern medicine, if you’re thinking about, well, children. Or adoption. Nothing wrong with adoption.”

“I - uh - I didn’t say anything about wanting children. I’d have to talk to Chuck about it,” Ned’s face was an impressive shade of fuschia as his sympathetic nervous system caused blood vessels to open wide, flooding the skin with blood and resulting in reddening of the face. “If she thought it was okay.”

  
  


Henry couldn’t help but laugh, despite the gravity of the situation they were currently in. “Judging by the way she’s currently behaving around Olive, I’d imagine she’d be over the moon.”

  
  


“Do you think I’d make a good father?” Ned inquired nervously.

  
  


“Of course you would, Ned, of course.”

  
  


“What happens if, say we can have a biological child, I, you know, pass my condition on?”

  
  


Henry thought for a while. “I don’t know. But seeing as Abe doesn’t have it, it’s probably a recessive condition. Or something along those lines. Who knows?”

  
  


The rest of the journey was conducted under the same sort of silence as before, until they arrived at Abigail’s cottage. Looking at it, Henry’s heart ached for what might have been, the potential of another life with her before she was stolen away by time. _To be a family again._ Heading down to where, presumably, the root cellar could be found, Henry felt as Orpheus, descending into the underworld to locate his Eurydice. And like Orpheus, he knew he could never bring her back.

  
  


“What are these?” Ned pointed at the jars.

  
  


“Preserves. She used to- she used to make preserves. You two would have got along well. Might have even been able to make pies together.” _If she’d sent that letter. If Abe had come clean about Ned’s existence._ _If_ _._

  
  


Searching the cellar, Henry was frightened. Where better to hide a body than somewhere that would become disused, abandoned, like a root cellar. There could be anything, from Abigail’s remains to evidence in the Belinda Snook case, to, working from the latter hypothesis, a bloodied Tarrytown Sheriff’s uniform he held up and showed Ned.

  
  


“The boyfriend-” he began. “Belinda Snook’s murderer, her boyfriend, was-”

  
  


Footsteps outside cut him off.

  
  


“Very clever, Henry, but that’s not going to stop him from killing us. And then I’ll be dead! It’s okay for you, you can take crazy risks but I really, really don’t want to die.”

  
  


“Wouldn’t you bring yourself back to life?” Henry mused, distracted.

  
  


“Yes, but then I’d touch myself and die.” Ned coloured again. “I didn’t mean it like-”

  
  


The door to the root cellar opened, light streaming in and footsteps coming down. They were alone in the root cellar with the murderer of Belinda Smoot.

  
  


And they still didn’t know what had happened to Abigail.

  
  


-

  
  


“ _Hey, you know who else hangs around emergency rooms and doesn’t have to check in?” a certain Detective Michael Hanson said over the phone, and in that moment Detective Joanna Martinez realised something. That something being ‘Goddammit Henry’._

  
  


_She headed over to Tarrytown immediately, just in time to capture the perp and haul him into the precinct, much to the consternation of Lieutenant Reece who expressly ordered no member of the NYPD was to talk to the fellow, all the while looking pointedly at Henry._

  
  


_Stomach churning with trepidation, Doctor Morgan entered the interrogation room for answers. The now-former Sheriff told him everything about the murder of Belinda Snook - I mean Smoot, the names are so similar, aren’t they, perhaps a distant family branch - and admitted he’d seen an elderly woman drive away with a stranger, that he’d waited until the landlady knocked afterwards and left, before burying his now-ex-girlfriend in a shallow grave._

  
  


_It was the landlady that caught the mind of Doctor Morgan, who realised Abigail had not made it past the landlady’s house and thus calculated the precise location the car had crashed in._

  
  


_There were the bones of Abigail Morgan. At this moment, she had been dead for 30 years, seven months, one week, five days, sixteen hours, twenty minutes and half of half a second. Missing from the car was the man she was with, whose condition as an immortal allowed him to cover exceptional distances in that half of half a second thirty years ago, and swim away naked to begin his obsessive hunt for Henry Morgan._

  
  


_At the exact same moment as Doctor Morgan threatened the judge - admittedly, time gets a little wishy-washy here, please bear with - Adam had located the assassin paid to kill his ‘friend’/suicide-pact buddy, and was waiting outside his house for a little alone time with the murderer of Henry Morgan. Just himself, the hired killer, a knife, and some handy torture tips taken from Nazi handbooks._

  
  


_ Oh, and of course, the nth Variable.  _ _Whoever that was._

  
  
  



	14. At this moment...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time is complicated. But at this (or that) moment, something is happening to everyone. This, that, that, this, like I said, time is funny. Someone killed Henry Morgan. Someone else is planning to kill the person who killed Henry Morgan then kill Henry Morgan by themselves. Someone else is busy not playing solitaire. Lots of things happen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a weird chapter. Essentially, we hear something about what everyone is doing, little snippets about each character, even those not included in this fic before. Stylistically, it's odd, and I'm worried about it. Also it's not really in chronological order because WIBBLY WOBBLY TIMEY WIMEY HAPPY NOW. No, but this is a strange chapter. Seriously. I hope the gamble pays off and it's not a disaster.

**Chapter 14**

**At this moment...**

 

 

_At this precise moment, Henry Morgan is staring at the bones of Abigail Morgan in horror. There is a difference between knowing something and seeing it which has never been more apparent than now._

_At this precise moment, Lucas Wahl is uncertainly offering assistance to his mentor, correcting mistakes with a mixture of shock that Henry had even made any, and concern. Because this body meant something._

_At this precise moment, Emerson Cod is stress-knitting. Today has been a trying day. For all of them. He was not alone in his irritation._

 

_At this precise moment…_

_Adam is having a lovely chat with Variable N about the reasoning behind killing Henry Morgan. And you know what chats with Adam are like. What a rascal._

 

_A lot of things are happening right now. Before Adam catches the murderer and does as he pleases with them, there are some ends that need to be untangled. There are some ‘At this moments’ left to be dealt with._

 

_Let us begin._

 

 _(Note from the Narrator - some of these ‘At that moments’ take place at different times. But time is subjective and can be_ _ weird  _ _. I don’t make the rules.  You decide when these events happen. Stories don’t necessarily have to take place in the right order, events unfold backwards, forwards, diagonally, wherever there is scope to move. As a narrator, I hope you can understand my creative choices in relaying this tale to you._

_P.S. Bonus marks to anyone who can figure out the identity of the Variable from these shorts. You can have a free haiku, say, next chapter? It’s not nearly so simple as it seems. But then again, what is?)_

 

-

At that moment, Lucas Wahl had finished his solitaire game and decided to check his phone. You know what young people are like. Solitaire was a depressing game because Lucas Wahl wasn’t very good at it, though he tried. There were many things that Lucas tried. His attempted scarf collection stood as testimony to this.

 

But no, Lucas Wahl, as first on the list, couldn’t possibly be the murderer, could he? _Because_ as someone once said _, as any connoisseur of mysteries knows - the secrets are at the bottom_

 

Lucas Wahl resumed his game of solitaire, gradually cheating as he went along, checking his phone every few minutes. Waiting for a call? He received one. The body of Abraham’s mother had been found and he needed to assist Henry with handling the bones. Got it. That was when he got back to work and deleted his history so NO HE HAD NEVER BEEN PLAYING ONLINE SOLITAIRE NOPE DIDN’T HAPPEN.

 

-

 

At that moment, Lieutenant Reece was going over case files, critically examining those associated with the alleged murder of Henry Morgan, which she was referring to as the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy. Putting them to one side, she sent them off to be shredded.

 

Because _if you kill a man and he returns unscathed, did you or did you not commit murder, and how should you, should the case ever come to court, hypothetically, be charged?_

 

Think on that.

 

-

 

At that moment, Aunts Lily and Vivian Charles were asleep. Or at least, Aunt Vivian was.

 

_(Aunt Lily of course, was not Charlotte’s aunt at all but her mother, after something one might have referred to as a twist of fate, take it up with Mr Bryan Fuller if you are unhappy)_

 

Aunt Lily was awake, and pouring herself a drink. Thanks to poor co-ordination caused by the loss of one eye, and stresses faced over the past day or so, her hand slipped and the glass fell to the floor shattering into a million pieces of hyperbole and coincidence.

 

_This is the definition of coincidence. Coincidences are far more than contrived plot devices pulled together to create a sense of symmetry and parallelism. They’re that instant freefall, as the clear glass falls towards the ground to break in perfect harmony, synchronicity._

 

_ Synchronicity…  _

 

-

 

At that moment, Randy Mann, whose name in the UK essentially was the same as being called Horny Guy, a fact somebody out there must have been keenly aware of (looking at you, Bryan Fuller), was waiting for Olive to get home, practising his art on some small butterflies he was pinning to the wall. Butterflies were difficult, the intricacy making them tricky. Conversely, larger animals were easier to develop taxidermy-exhaustion with, and it was harder to rectify/erase all evidence of a mistake made while preserving, say a vast African bush elephant, _Loxodonta africana_.

 

That and the legalities of acquiring dead elephants, they being a preserved species.

 

He was glancing at his watch nervously. He was worried about her.

 

_There are consequences for every action, no matter how small. A butterfly flaps its wings._

 

(Not that butterfly. It’s nailed down. A different one)

But there are still consequences.

 

Somewhere, a storm starts.

 

-

 

At this moment, Detective Michael ‘Mike’ Hanson was trying to sleep in a ski lodge, and failing disastrously thanks to a little thing called small children. He rolled over and put a pillow over his face, groaning. His phone rang. From the bathroom his wife yelled at him to keep it down, hypocritical as ever! Goddammit it.

 

_Ah, the dilemmas of middle-class America. Aren’t they a delight?_

 

Obviously, it wasn’t Hanson. But the seeds of doubt are sown and now essentially, you’re feeling directionless paranoia with no idea who the Variable is. Mike Hanson is as good a guess as any. You never know. This could be reverse psychology or reverse-reverse psychology.

 

Anyway, _he had to go make a few calls._

 

-

 

At that moment, Abigail Morgan was dead. Her body was about to be found.

Obviously, being dead, she is _not_ a suspect. That would be ridiculous. This is so obviously a red herring she doesn’t even get a potentially incriminating quote from the rest of the story.

_And if you believe that, you’ll believe anything…_

 

_-_

 

At that moment, similarly dead Charles Charles, albeit alive again-ed by Ned the Piemaker who had been tricked into leaving him alive, was actually in New York, considering perhaps a reconnecting with his daughter. Considering. By considering, perhaps it is more accurate to say loitering in Grand Central, an Invisible Man-esque bandaged figure claiming to have a skin condition. He did have a skin condition. It was called being dead.

 

_The thing about death is, the dead do not care about intention. They can’t afford to, being dead._

 

And the price of intention is high for a man with no real future, who should by rights be in the ground.

A man closely acquainted with Abraham (not the Biblical figure, but the adopted son of Doctor Henry Morgan).

Can he afford intention?  More importantly, _why would he be interested in one Doctor Henry Morgan, Medical Examiner for the NYPD?_

 

-

 

At that moment, the Piemaker was examining a pocket watch belonging to Henry Morgan he had picked up off the street, way back in chapter 1, if you can even remember that far back. He probably needed to give that back. As soon as Henry was done with his call to Adam, he’d give it to him.

 

He waited. Maybe, he wondered, he ought to follow his grandfather’s advice and talk to Chuck. Leaving the pocket-watch on Henry’s desk, he went after his girlfriend to talk to her. _And so the future begins._

 

-

 

At that moment Charlotte Charles, known also as Chuck, was curled up on the sofa underneath a blanket. She heard the sound of someone coming in and looked up to see Ned, and she smiled sleepily at him. It had been a very, very long day. _Life was over-complicated,_ she decided.

 

_ She had seen nothing yet.  _

 

-

At that moment, Olive Snook was still humming off the buzz of her musical number. It was probably an addiction at this stage, bursting into song whenever required. She’d just finished a fantastic jam session with Ned’s dad and decided she liked the Super-secret Undead Murder Committee and even after the case was solved, she wanted to spend more time together as a group, no matter what Emerson said (she was sure as hell making him godfather, he’d be ecstatic but have to pretend not to be secretly living it up. It would be fabulous).

 

But now she was sat on the sofa, doing nothing. Except, of course, checking her phone.

 

_Coincidence?_

_I think not._

 

-

 

At that moment, Emerson Cod was stress-knitting. More accurately, he was eating noodles with chopsticks and a nervous reaction had caused him to automatically knit, causing the entire combined populations of China, Japan and other chopstick-using countries like Korea to cry out ‘that’s not what chopsticks are for, fuckass!’ (admittedly, a loose translation)

 

He was tired. He was bored. But the thing about Emerson Cod was he always saw a case through to the end. He was going to solve the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy.   _It would be nice for something to finally go their way for once._

 

_Poor Emerson. He couldn’t have been more wrong if he’d tried._

  


-

At that moment, Detective Jocelynn (right?) Martinez was seriously concerned Henry Morgan had some sort of death wish, and wondered just exactly how he’d take the news they couldn’t investigate into yet another 30-year old murder, especially since Abe’s mother was very important to him. What the hell was going on?

 

Jolinda (definitely not)’s mind cycled back to the beginning of the day. _This all starts with an alleged murder. And a body that supposedly, what, vanished?_ Josefina Conception Immaculada (warm? Cold? Nah) couldn’t make any sense of it.

 

The notable adverb being -  yet. 

_Aren’t adverbs such funny things?_

-

 

At _almost_ _ this  _ moment, Abraham Morgan was waiting for his father to come home. Ned had returned from the cottage first, and Henry was busy with police stuff - apparently they had caught the murderer of Belinda Smoot.

 

He picked up the phone to hear Abigail was dead. He’d known it all along, but...to have the facts presented to him, his heart skipped a beat, figuratively of course, he wasn’t going into cardiac arrest…he had his answer, _but there still remained innumerable other hidden truths left to uncover._

 

_Like who killed Henry Morgan._

 

-

 

At _this_ moment, Doctor Henry Morgan, the Vanishing Dead Guy himself was staring at the skeleton of his beloved Abigail. He couldn’t think. _Accident, accident, please be an accident_ he prayed. He interpreted the information through those biased filters, _accident, accident, please be an accident._

 

Only when Lucas objected, telling him he was wrong and explaining why did everything stop feeling ephemeral, unreal. He knew who had killed Abigail. And he knew how to deal with him.

 

_He was, after all, a doctor._

 

-

 

At this moment, _fellow immortal Adam, whose peculiar manner of friendship really leaves a lot to be desired_ is for once behaving like a good friend and is about to torture an assassin to death, all in the name of ‘killing Henry himself’. Now that’s dedication for you. Loyalty.

 

Or something like that.

 

-

 

At this moment, the nth Variable is _ here_. Who?

 _Tune in_ _ **tomorrow** _ _to find out._

 

-

_This concludes today’s series of excerpts from the innermost depths of people’s souls, gathered illegally using intrusive psychic powers. I hope you are not too disappointed by their brief nature, however it is hard to listen to multiple persons’ every thoughts and cram them down onto paper. It is considerably easier with only one person to eavesdrop on, however, I felt you needed to know all the facts. For context._

 

_Before, as Emerson Cod might say, ‘shit gets real’._

 

_Have a nice day, and I’ll be with you again shortly when, well, when dearest Adam bites off a little more than he can chew for the first time since becoming immortal. Won’t that be fun?_

  
_Don’t let me detain you._

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo...anyone want to hazard a guess? Literally could be anyone, maybe even some obscure side character I haven't mentioned in the 'At that (or this) moments'. Winner gets a haiku (I've been promising this haiku for a while and you're wondering what's so impressive about a haiku it's only seventeen syllables well booyah this is a pretty damn impressive haiku)
> 
> Just pick a name out of a hat and we'll see what your prize is, alright guys? Can't hurt to try.


	15. Regrettable Life Choices

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam makes a regrettable decision and comes face to face with Variable N, who is the last person he expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, thank you so much to everyone, ruthc93, kythe42 and kiss_me_cassie especially, your support has been amazing. Now, if you want to go back and leave a wild guess on the previous chapter as to who you think the murderer was, please do so, it'll be fun to see if you were right. Anyway. Originally, I was uncertain who the killer was, I just had a storyline and started from there. And then suddenly I just knew. Let's see how this goes. Enjoy (I loved writing Adam's POV tbh, I hope he's not ooc please leave a comment telling me what you think, I am VERY nervous about how this will go down and comments really do make my day. Thank you!)

** Chapter 15 **

** Regrettable life choices **

  
  


_ Sometimes, as people, we have to make decisions. To tell the truth or lie. To accept a job or decline it, especially when that job is murder-for-hire. To bribe another professional killer for said murderer-of-Henry-Morgan’s address and proceed to break into the home of said murderer, and set about preparing to torture him to death. That was Adam right now, in case your deductive reasoning is somehow inherently flawed, as well it might be. _

  
  


_ Little was Adam to know that the Nth Variable awaited him outside, watching, waiting. They had been waiting for him all along. In the end, they would always be waiting for him. For many, many years, they had waited. And now it was time for them to act.  _

  
  


_ Walking towards the front door, whistling innocently, the nth Variable made their decision. It was a decision they knew they would regret, as it overturned everything they had been working for. But ah well. It was time to tell the truth. This was their choice. Because at the end of the day, everybody has a choice. What we choose to do with it makes all the difference. _

  
  


_ - _

  
  


'Professional' killer Blake Garcy was probably regretting his life choices about now, Adam mused, as he ran a knife, ever-so-gently, around the throat of the hired gun, enough for the cold steel to frighten the ex-soldier, but not enough to break the skin. Blake flinched slightly, but he'd clearly withstood interrogation before and his face remained expressionless. The real professional in the room removed the considerably younger man's gag and smiled. This was going to be fun. He'd deliver the corpse somewhere creative and interesting and call Henry to explain afterwards, all in time for dinner. Time was something Adam had a lot of, best to use it wisely. Torturing a young man to death, therefore, was a very productive use of said time.

  
  


“There we go, Blake. I'm sorry about this, but I need to ask you a few questions about your most recent gig. Doctor Henry Morgan. How much do you know?”

  
  


“Dude, if you're talking about the vanishing dead guy, I'm fucked if I know! I'll tell you everything I know. I ain't going to die for the asshole who hired me, that's for damn sure.” the murderer of Henry Morgan shrugged as best he could with his arms bound behind his seat “You're not a cop, I can tell that much. Who are you?”

  
  


“An interested third party,” Adam murmured. The assassin's eyes widened. “What? What is it?”

  
  


“The guy...the guy on the phone who hired me. He referred to himself in those exact words. Didn't have a name. Called himself the Nth Variable, whatever that was supposed to mean. I flunked algebra.”

  
  


Adam was at a loss to explain the mortal propensity for filling space with gibberish. They didn’t have time for it, even Adam didn't have time for it, and if there is one thing Adam had in abundance, it was  _ time _ . Over the years, he had developed an imbalance where he knew full well he had too much time, and as a result had no patience. Precisely opposite to what one might expect. “Fascinating. Moving on from your mathematical ineptitude, what can you tell me about your employer? His number? What did he sound like? Tell me everything he said to you, from the beginning.”

  
  


Blake rolled his eyes. “He called from a different phone every time. Normally I only take referrals, you know, but this guy was persistent. He knew everything about me. My name, social security, my exact age in fucking milliseconds, man! I think he was stalking me. Sounded a bit like that guy off Harry Potter, audiobooks you know?”

  
  


Adam did not know. He didn’t listen to many audiobooks, especially not Harry Potter, being somewhat older than the target audience. He dragged the knife down Blake's cheek, watching the blood pool and gush down his victim's face. “Anything else?”

  
  


“Nah, man. He wasn't surprised when I said the body disappeared. I think he knew all along. I think he had the entire thing planned. He was counting on it.”

  
  


“Come on, d'you expect me to believe that bullshit, Blakey?” Adam levelled the knife and prepared to sever a finger, when he felt movement behind him, a soft breath on the back of his neck. A whisper, in a rich English voice of the sort best suited to narration (and not often conversation).

  
  


“ _ Yes _ .” He turned, steadying the blade, turned straight into a wooden plank that floored him, sending 2,000 year-old 'expert' Adam reeling. “I'm so sorry about this.” the Nth Variable said sincerely. “I'm not particularly violent as a rule but nor do I enjoy the feeling of being stabbed just like you were contemplating, stabbing me. How rude. Time to go, Blake Garcy. Goodbye.” Seizing the knife and moving fast, the Variable sliced the cable ties keeping Blake bound to the chair, taking the time to tase Adam twice in the meantime. It was the third that caused Adam to lose consciousness, wondering how anyone could have got the better of him. This didn't happen. He was an expert. He was  _ the _ expert, definite article! Until he wasn’t. _ . _

  
  


He awoke tied to the chair, listening to  _ that voice.  _ “ If you're wondering how I got the better of you, which I know you are, don't worry. It's just I happen to have a distinct advantage. Poor Adam. You brag about your age like it's some sort of achievement. Do you want a medal? You think 2,000 years is bad, try 20.” Awkward shuffling of feet “I mean 20,000 not 20 years, just to be clear. And I say 20,000, really I'm just trying to make a dramatic parallel with what you told Henry in like, episode 2? At this moment, I'm 24,373 years, 8 months, 22 days, 19 hours, 45 minutes and-” the Variable studied his watch “Four and a half seconds. I've lived through an ice age, Adam. You weren't even a thought of a thought, your ancestors were nonentity. I did miss out on the Neanderthals, which was a downer, but on balance, my life has been fairly decent. Aside from the entirety of the 1600s,” Variable N shuddered. “People kept trying to burn me as a witch. You know how it is.”

  
  


“Am I supposed to be impressed?” Adam hissed. Either this man was insane, bluffing or- or what? Or he really was an omniscient immortal being from ancient human history? That reeked of fabrication (And hypocrisy, he added to himself with a twist of irony).

  
  


“ It reeks of fabrication, I know. And you’re a fine one to talk about hypocrisy, aren’t you now? Listen, Adam, you're in the way. Of my story.” Insane. Definitely. “I'm not insane, Adam. Though that isn't your name, it is the most relevant for our interchange here.” He was going to escape, then he was going to cut the Variable's throat, remove him from the equation entirely. “Don't even think about escaping. Also, it's rude to cut people's throats. As for removing me from the equation, I  _ am  _ the equation. People have tried and failed to destroy me in the past. As I recall, Napoleon was very angry with me once. Something to do with Russia. Of course, I remember it all word for word but I'm pretending not to for the sake of human conversation. I don't want to come across badly now, do I?”

  
  


“ Do you mind explaining to me who the fuck you think you are, doing this to  _ me _ ? I will vivisect you, fucking end you, whether you're like me or not, you still feel pain and you will know such pain you've never endured. What the  _ hell _ is going on?”

  
  


“ Language! I'm trying to keep this PG here!” the Variable sounded outraged. “I thought Emerson Cod's internal thoughts were bad, but you, why, Gordon Ramsey would hang up his  _ effing _ apron. Your latter question, why, that's simple. I killed Doctor Morgan to get your attention. Like I said, you're in my way, Adam. You're in the way of my story. If I let events continue the way they were, it would have been an absolute disaster, and the television adaptation got cancelled after one season, an absolute travesty. You'd have found the dagger that originally killed you – useless, by the way, but 10/10 for logic. Sadly, logic rarely factors into this sort of business. This would have involved killing people, trail of bodies, blah blah blah, Henry would get the dagger, you'd get the pistol, bang bang Henry's dead – but plot twist, he injects you with air at the base of your neck, causing an embolism. You suffer locked-in syndrome for fifty years, become an object of intense medical interest until a junior doctor messes up and kills you on the 17 th of August 2065. You come out of the river but Henry has vanished and you can't find him. Your life is meaningless and you beg for death. Depressing stuff. Meanwhile, Henry never finds a way out, watches Abe and Jo die, never meets Ned but Ned dies anyway because that,” The Variable spat bitterly, with the weight of experience “ _ Is what people do. _ They die. But in between that, they live. You won't have noticed that, not after your meagre 2,000 years. All you're caught up on his the death, death, death, all around you. When you've lived as long as I have, you see everything. Everybody's lives passing by you, death a fleeting instant compared to their beautiful lives. And the  _ stories _ ...” Shaking his head, the Variable smiled. “You want to know who I am? I'm the  _ Narrator _ .”

  
  


The Nth Variable, the Narrator turned to face an invisible audience. “Bet you never saw that coming.” he said, and  _ smiled. _

  
  


_ - _

  
  


_ I am sorry, I am sorry, I am so appallingly sorry. I've told you untruths and patronised you and I should have told you my game from the start rather than being like this. Now I'm an unreliable narrator, and if there's one thing I hate it's unreliability, imprecision, inaccuracy. We should be able to respect one another better than this. 20,000 years should have made me a better person. But anyway. I can't make up for the lies I've told you, so against my usual nature as a narrator. For starters, I never got hot wings. I was calling an assassin to clarify some things with him. There's more untruths, but this is most notable in my mind, standing out because I  _ _ did not get any hot wings and I very much enjoy the consumption of spicy chicken flesh.  _ _ None of this was my choice. I'm so sorry. _

  
  


_ I suppose I promised everyone a haiku. Well, this is hardly the best time but here goes: _

  
  


_** My apologies ** _

_** Yes the murderer was me ** _

_** I lied this whole time ** _

  
  
  


 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know. Don't worry, this isn't over. I'll be back next Friday with another chapter. There will be a reckoning.


	16. Officially the Best Prank Call Ever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry and the Nth Variable talk, Emerson has his internal monologue interrupted, and a meeting is set. 
> 
> And Jo is getting suspicious. How long can Henry keep his secret for?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Just because we know who the murderer is (and can't trust a single word of this fic ever again), does not mean the story is over. The show must go on, regardless of any narratorial issues. Such as murder.
> 
> Also, to listen to Emerson Cod's totally legit new ringtone (with the advances since Pushing Daisies last aired, no doubt he has a smartphone and a snazzy new ringtone. For instance, this) go here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FjWe31S_0g I'm incompetent and can't make links (pls hlp)

** Chapter 16 **

** Officially The Best Prank Call Ever **

 

_ Now that we are all assuredly past my minor lapses/out-and-out-untruths, I believe it is time to continue the story as if nothing had ever happened between us, let alone sudden but inevitable betrayal. Because although there is no Mystery, there is still a Vanishing Dead Guy to be dealt with, and at this moment he is a) 235 years,  six months, one day, three hours and seventeen minutes old, b) plotting a delightfully colourful and imaginative revenge against fellow immortal Adam, c) grossly unaware of the minefield he was wandering into and perhaps most importantly, d) on the phone. On the whole, Doctor Morgan was rather technologically inept but for Adam he would make an exception. He called the number Adam had left for him, burying his emotions under British sensibilities ingrained in his lineage. He could do this. His revenge would take place, even if it took him the rest of eternity. _

  
  


_ The phone rang twice before a choking voice, gasping for air picked up, breathing heavily into the line. Doctor Morgan was somewhat taken aback. Adam - that’s your cue. Go ahead. Honestly, you’re willing to monologue dramatically to Henry at  _ _ any other time.  _ _ One would think you didn’t like me. _

  
  


“ _So...you figured it out,” Adam laughed bitterly, after some prodding with a sharp object known professionally as a ‘knife’._

  
  


“ _You killed Abigail.” At this, the man on the other end sounded surprised._

  
  


“ _What? No, that wasn’t what I was...referring to. I thought you’d realised...that I was making inquiries. Henry; I found your murderer. Or, rather, he found me.”_

  
  


“ _You killed Abigail.” Doctor Morgan said blankly, unable to tear his mind away from that thought, unable to process what was being said to him. Call it a character flaw, but I cannot bear imprecision and am compulsed to correct every factual inaccuracy (you can imagine, then, how difficult keeping up a deception was)._

  
  


“ _ No, he didn’t. Abigail killed herself to get away from him, to protect you. Isn’t that right, Adam? I’m sorry, Henry. It doesn’t fit the neat little narrative you’d concocted for yourself but life  _ _ never  _ _ goes as we anticipated. Well, I mean it does for me but I’m an exception, an anomaly oh and by the way, so sorry about killing you. It was nothing personal. Just needed to borrow Adam. You’ll be glad to hear he won’t be a problem anymore. That is to say, he’ll be dead. As in, permanent death, taking a leaf out of the dodo’s book, so to speak, not that the dodo was a particularly literate bird.” _

  
  


“ _Who are you?” Doctor Morgan asked, voice shaking. In the background he could hear Adam trying to yell something, words muffled by a gag._

  
  


“ _ There isn’t time to go into that, I mean, I told everyone, what, last chapter? They don’t want to hear the same tired exposition again.” Mad. Quite mad. “I’m not mad, Henry. I’m the Narrator. Do keep up. Oh, and tell Emerson Cod to put his phone on speaker, I want a little chat with you all. Don’t worry, you aren’t in trouble.” If I was the sort for verbal cliches and uncalled-for melodrama, I’d add the word yet. Of course I’m that sort. “ _ _ Yet _ _ . That was an adverb, you know, that might be construed as a warning. Adverbs are funny little things like that, aren’t they? I’ll see you when I see you. Goodbye, Doctor Morgan.” _

  
  


_ With that, the voice on the end of the phone (aka definitely not me) hung up, leaving Doctor Henry Morgan staring at the phone and wondering exactly what kind of lunatic would make a phone call like that. One thing in particular struck him - how frightened Adam had sounded. Anyone who could scare Adam, who knew how to put their limitless lives to a permanent end, they must have lived a very long time indeed. What if they decided they did want Henry dead? And what did they mean by yet?  _

  
  


_ Before he could find an answer, Emerson Cod’s phone started to ring.  _

  
  


-

  
  


“Uh, hello?” After a long night, Emerson Cod was tired. Bored. Driven to the point of distraction. Unless this was some crazy calling to confess to killing the VDG, tying up all the loose ends nicely so he could go home and sleep, Emerson really wasn’t in the mood for this phone call.

  
  


“You’re quite right, Mr. Cod,” A deep voice on the other end said, somehow managing to sound relatively cheerful and upbeat “Except for the crazy part, now that’s just rude. Why do you people think I’m insane, I wonder?” A chuckle. “That’s a joke. It was funny.”

  
  


“Yeah? Well I’m laughing my ass off,” muttered the disgruntled Private-Eye “Who the hell do you think you are? You reading my thoughts, huh? You some government spy? You an alien?”

  
  


“ Do I have to pick one? Hold on, I think that’ll be Doctor Morgan. Your VDG.”  _ Honestly,  _ Emerson thought,  _ this is not the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to me. There’s a mind-reading government alien spy on the phone and he thinks he’s hilarious. _ “ I  _ know  _ I’m hilarious, Mr. Cod. In a quirky, passive-aggressively psychic kind of way. Who do you think’s been narrating this show?”

  
  


“What show? Look, I don’t know who you are, but-”

  
  


He was interrupted by the VDG bursting wildly into the room followed by Pie-Boy and Old Ned chasing after him, yelling frantically. “For God’s sake man, put that thing on speaker.”

  
  


Ah. This was the other immortal douchebag, that Adam feller who was not a suspect.  _ Go on then.  _ Emerson thought to the ‘dickwad’ on the other end  _ interrupt my thoughts and tell me I’m wrong. This is one of those days where you just have to roll with the crazy otherwise you end up drowning in piles of someone else’s shit.  _ Emerson complied with the request, somewhat reluctantly, and set the cellphone down on the table. The mind-reading government spy alien (MRGSA? Sounds too much like MRSA) was complaining. If he wasn’t so personally invasive, Emerson would have a lot to talk to him about.

  
  


“ While drowning in piles of excrement is a beautiful, poetic image indeed, I resent being called a...a d-wad. Please keep your internal monologue PG.”  _ Fuck that  _ “ Language, Mr. Cod! You’re supposed to be a professional!” Ned was smirking. Chuck was stifling actual laughter. Why couldn’t Adam pick on them instead? “You’re wrong. I know, late. I’m not Adam. I’m the Nth Variable, the Narrator, blah blah blah been there done that. Oh, and I killed Henry Morgan. Though in my defense, my reasoning was entirely sound.”

  
  


“That’s what they all say,” Chuck shook her head sadly. “Can I ask why you-”

  
  


“He was after Adam,” the VDG cut in. “He’s going to kill him.”

  
  


“As in dead-dead, or you-dead?” Pie-boy looked concerned. “If he can kill Adam permanently, what’s to stop him-”

  
  


“Killing me? Absolutely nothing.” So now everyone looked worried except Emerson, who had decided to sit back and watch this shit go down from an outsider’s perspective. That was a good idea now, wasn’t it?

  
  


“ Why would I want to kill you?” the Narrator sounded almost hurt. “I’m offended. There would be no point.  _ Yet _ . There I go again, adverbs everywhere. Olive,” the blonde woman, who up until now had been sat in the background, thoroughly exhausted, looked up in surprise “Your husband is wondering where you are. I recommend heading home.”

  
  


“Just wait a minute, how the hell do you know that?” Olive pointed an accusatory finger. “Are you spying on me? Are you a mind-reading government alien spy?” Emerson snorted “What? I’m not allowed to ask questions now? I think that was a perfectly valid question, after the day we’ve had.”

  
  


“Indeed.” the VDG rolled his eyes disdainfully.

  
  


“I’m omniscient.” 

  
  


Okay, so out of all the outings Emerson Cod had been there to witness, this probably took the cake. And the cookies. And the freaking oreos. Somewhere just one category of batshit-insane up from ‘totes Ned’s dad’, ‘I’m a 200 year-old immortal stripper’ (or whatever Henry was) and ‘Hey I’m Ned I bring dead things back to life’, was this - an omniscient nerd stalking them and plotting jacked-up murders. How long did you have to live before you lost all semblance of sanity? Before this stupid-ass plan started to make sense? There was a vast semantic line between omniscience and wisdom, and the Narrator was worlds away from that last one,  _ worlds.  _ And the apparent distance between omniscience and something like rationality was insurmountable. In. Sur. Mount. Able. It was so far away, light hadn’t even reached it yet and probably never would. In further news, water is wet and fire is hot. And the Narrator was a total fruit loop. Confirmed.

  
  


“Alright then, prove it!” Ned said, and Emerson wanted to mention the whole ‘critiquing internal monologues thing’ “What colour socks am I wearing?”

  
  


“Black. They have pandas on them. Chuck bought them for you.”

  
  


Swiftly, in one deft motion, Emerson seized Ned’s feet and tore his shoes off, the other man objecting loudly the entire time. After confirming the Narrator was, of course, right, Emerson decided it was time to ask a more important question.

  
  


“Okay, riddle me this. Is Pie-Boy a vir-”

  
  


Ned went bright red. Chuck looked very intrigued. Ned’s father left the room. Thankfully, before he died of embarrassment (now that’d be a cool death, wouldn’t it?), the Narrator interrupted “In the interests of Ned’s privacy, I won’t dignify that with an answer.”

  
  


“Thank you.” Pie-Boy sighed with relief. 

  
  


“ You’re welcome. Glad someone appreciates me,” muttered the Narrator in a slightly sour tone “You complain about your wage, Mr. Cod, I don’t even get paid. I do this because I, allegedly, enjoy it.” Emerson could practically taste the finger quotes. That sounded weird, admittedly. But he knew they were there. “Anyway, Doctor Morgan, I imagine you want to meet, I say imagine, I mean  _ know _ . You’re morally torn between allowing me to terminate Adam, or doing it yourself, or being a doctor and saving his godforsaken life. Caught between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea. I’m not the Devil. Personally I’ve always liked the sound of being an ocean, except all the trenches and mile-deep crevices.”

  
  


“ Ha. Crevices,” snorted Emerson before realising he’d been lured into a verbal trap of innuendo. “You knew I’d say that. You  _ let  _ me say that. How do you have conversations?”

  
  


“I plan in advance. I wrote my responses to this in 1682.”

  
  


“Don’t get out much, do you?”

  
  


“No. I don’t. I didn’t even get any hot wings the other day because I was too busy paying an assassin to kill Doctor Morgan. The sacrifices I make,” It looked like the VDG was about to speak, but he was interrupted “I quite agree. Grand Central? Tomorrow? You should get some sleep. Good for the soul. I suppose I’ll see you there. Any time’s fine with me. Just turn up whenever. See you later.”

  
  


The voice on the other end of the line hung up, and the room visibly relaxed. Old Ned peered his head around the door.

  
  


“Has he gone?”

  
  


“Yes, Abraham, he’s gone.”

  
  


“ That guy is a creep, Henry,” Abe said firmly. “You are not going to meet him. I thought Adam was a nutjob but this? This is  _ beyond  _ suicidal. Whether or not he’s actually omniscie-” Emerson’s phone buzzed.   ‘ _ I am’ _ was all the text read. “He’s still crazy.” Another text. ‘ _ Rude’ _ . “See what I mean! What are you going to do, Henry? If he does actually know how to kill you? You can’t trick him. You can’t get in there first, you can’t bluff someone who knows all the answers. All you can hope for is that he spares you, on some lunatic whim. That he doesn’t kill you  _ yet. _ ”

  
  


Henry nodded solemnly. “Abraham, head down to the river. We’re going now. If the Narrator is going to kill me off, he’s demonstrated quite aptly that he can get to me at any time. Ned - could you take Olive home, please?” Pie-Boy nodded. “Emerson - if the Narrator texts you again, tell someone. I’m going to see if I can finish this. ‘End the story’, as this Narrator gentleman would put it. Are we all clear?”

  
  


The Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee nodded in unison, even Emerson. Once more his phone vibrated, its screen displaying a single word.

  
  


‘ _Crystal’_

  
  


-

  
  


_ As Olive Snook headed home, and Chuck and Ned returned to their respective abodes, and Emerson went back to his place to collapse on the sofa, Abraham was concerned, as he headed down to the usual waiting place to do exactly that.  _ _ Wait _ _. He wasn’t ready to lose Henry. None of them were. Ned had only just met his grandfather, Lucas doted on Henry with almost terrifying hero worship, Abe just didn’t want to lose his father, and Jo, Jo, she- _

  
  


_ She was hiding around the corner, not having heard a word of the SSUMC’s conversation, blithely unaware of the true nature of Henry’s ‘condition’. But she did know there was something wrong with him, and so had made the decision to follow him when he left the antiques store. _

  
  


_ She intended to find out the truth. _

  
  


_ Meanwhile the truth was looking for her. That is to say, it was waiting, it was on the move, it had dropped into KFC on the way there to get hot wings for real this time, leaving Adam alone, which normally would be a really, really bad idea except this time he was rather dead. _

  
  


_ As in dead-dead. _

  
  


_ As in dead as a dodo. _

  
  


_ As in  _ _ extinct. _

  
  


_ Which is a tragedy and all for a specimen like Adam, but you see, reader/listener/interpretive dance watcher, Adam was quite, quite mad. You know how it is. His life had continued for too long, you see, he lost every last one of his small glass orbs known as marbles.  _

  
_ Thank God I didn’t end up like  _ _ that _ _.  _

 

 


	17. Jo-um....what?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jo discovers some rather shocking things about Henry, and a long story starts to unravel. And the Narrator brought fries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so if there's any grammar errors or mistakes you see, forgive me, I have a hella hellacious headcold (I have wanted to use this sentence ever since I heard the word hellacious for the first time. I love American English sometimes. Other times I despise it, but whatever). Some things might have slipped through in the editing process. In other news my sinuses are blocked and my head feels like a brick. But I (thankfully) had this mostly written before I got ill, and only some editing was required before posting. That's where I might have slipped up. Sorry.
> 
> I should be better by next week and will still be posting as normal.

** Chapter 17 **

** Jo-um...what? **

  
  


_ As Doctor Morgan entered the disused platform of the New York subway, he was entirely unaware of the fact Detective Martinez was hot on his heels. Additionally she found him hot. Also, due to the poor ventilation down there, both of them were feeling rather hot; it was a warm night after all, and plural meanings are confusing at the best of times. But anyway. _

  
  


_ Hidden out of sight much like Olive Snook-Mann-Snook had done earlier, Detective Jocasta (oh come on, I’m practically omniscient, how have I forgotten her real name? I know a lot of things! Excuse me if I misplace some of it, it’s hard to organise information sometimes. Please don’t report me to the Advertising Standards Agency) Martinez waited. Her hand hovered on her gun holster. If anything should put Henry in danger...she was ready to protect him. And if he turned out to be dangerous? She moved her hand away. She was going to wait this one out and see what happened. _

  
  


_ The air smelt of fried chicken.  _

  
  


_ A chuckle. _

  
  


“ _Would you like some fries with that, Doctor Morgan?”_

  
  


_ - _

  
  


The timbre of the voice surprised her, deep, smooth. You didn’t hear many people who sounded like that, especially not in New York City, certainly not offering fries anyway.  It sounded amused, quaintly sarcastic, easily refined. Someone Henry knew from before he came out to America, perhaps? Jo shifted uncomfortably, trying to get a good view around the corner. She was crouched behind an empty trash can. Not sophisticated, but so far she had gone unseen. Peeking around the side, she saw Henry standing there, his usual well-dressed self. Another figure stood there, and he did not look like a man who would belong to that rich, beautiful voice. He was - well, he was  _ so normal.  _ A perfectly ordinary man wearing ordinary clothes who would never draw eyes. Normal. If she hadn’t heard him speak, she might never have thought twice about him.

  
  


He was offering Henry a french fry from a small box. Jo felt a smile tug at the corners of her mouth. Henry didn’t much care for chain food. That appeared to be the joke. The Medical Examiner refused, leaving the newcomer with a handful of fries, which he shrugged and ate. For a worrying moment Jo thought he was going to put the box in the trash can and that would be the end of it, but something seemed to get into his left eye. It looked almost as though he were winking. He cast the box aside, onto the silent tracks.

  
  


“ Forgive me if am a little reticent in accepting foodstuffs from you,” Henry said “You  _ have  _ killed me twice.”

  
  


Everything went numb, Jo’s blood running chill.  _ No.  _ Henry wasn’t saying what it sounded like he was saying. There was a rational explanation. Quickly, the Detective covered her mouth to stop herself expressing her shock. Around her the world seemed to spin.

  
  


“Yes, and you’re looking frightfully well for it,” the Amused Voice replied. “One doesn’t need to wonder what Detective Martinez sees in you.”

  
  


_ How did he know that? What was the Voice saying? Henry  _ _ had  _ _ died?  _

  
  


What if, Jo thought, when Henry died, he teleported somehow to East River? Naked. That made no sense, but would really, really explain how he had got to the other side of the city so quickly. But no. That made no sense. It did explain his ‘death wish’. It did explain the ‘skinny dipping’. But it didn’t explain logic and reason. It didn’t explain anything. Least of all common sense.

  
  


“Are you implying Jo has feelings for me?” Henry swallowed, sounding nervous. 

  
  


“Are you implying you weren’t aware? Come on Henry! You are an intelligent gentleman with a frankly wonderful accent. Like me, only attractive.” the Amused Voice laughed, “Though in my defence, let’s not get ahead of ourselves, I’m omniscient, you aren’t. Therefore more intelligent. Infinitely.”

  
  


Was he being sarcastic? That was a thing British people did, way, way too often. The sense of humour was...yes, that was it, the British sense of humour. Henry hadn’t died. The Amused Voice wasn’t omniscient. Though to be fair his so-called omniscience would explain how he knew her innermost feelings about Henry. Or, perhaps, he was just a stalker. Yes. That was definitely it. Stalker. Her hand rested on her gun again. Stalkers were unpredictable people and who knew whether or not he would get nasty.

  
  


“Where’s Adam? What have you done to him?”

  
  


The man to whom the Voice belonged shrugged lazily. “Well, at this moment, the 2,000 year old ‘immortal’ Adam is...quite pleasantly dead. And has been for at the last twenty-five minutes three seconds. And a sixteenth. Of a second. More now. How time flies when you’re having fun.”

  
  


“You...killed him? How? I understand why but-” Henry sounded alarmed. Jo clutched her gun tighter and pulled it from its holster - they were dealing with a murderer now.

  
  


“ No. You do not. The facts,” the Voice said, as one reciting a sacred mantra “Are these: the aforementioned 2,000 and some ‘immortal’ calling himself Adam was going to get in the way of you and Detective Martinez. I told him a lie about his locked in syndrome lasting fifty-something years and his pleading for death, may have exaggerated that timeline but I needed him to accept the gift of death you know, hurry up the shuffling off his immortal coil, but the truth is, he would have ruined things otherwise. You would never have met Ned, the Piemaker. Never got together with Jo. You’d have wound up lonely and cynical. I needed to manipulate events to bring Detective Martinez here so she could hear the truth about you. So you can have a happy ending, so Ned can have a happy ending, not those unsatisfactory open-ended finales both of you had, or would have had in your case, without  _ me. _ In the scheme of things, I’ve helped you, haven’t I, Detective...Joaquinnah? Joayn? Jonquil?” The Voice waved his hands despairingly. “Detective Martinez, whatever your Jo-containing first name is, please come out from behind the the refuse disposal area so we can move the plot along.”

  
  


Somewhat awkwardly, Jo stood up, taking in the agonised look on Henry’s face as he saw her. This hurt. This really hurt a lot. “Henry. Do you want to explain what’s going on?”

  
  


Doctor Henry Morgan, her  _ best friend,  _ Medical Examiner, colleague and, well, as the voice said, the man she loved, looked at her hopelessly, turning to the Amused Voice for help. “Go on then, you know everything. You tell her.”

  
  


“ Doctor, you misunderstand the purpose of a narrator,” the Voice said gently “I’m not here to live your life for you. I’m here to observe. Though to be fair, I have rather exceeded my job description today, what with all the murder, murder and more murder. It’s been a rather homicidal week if I’m being honest. Go on, Detective...Joneene? Joelle? Excuse me. I have some difficulty accessing information sometimes. Mental blocks, I put them there: some to protect my sanity, others...apparently to prevent me knowing your first name. How odd. Omniscience, it’s a burden isn’t it? Everyone expects you to be good at pub quizzes when actually the most part of my job is... _ dramatically narrating people’s ages _ . Don’t worry...Jonetia? I won’t reveal yours. What was I saying, I forget?” the Amused Voice laughed darkly. “No I don’t. I never forget anything, excepting what I need to forget for the good of my health, humanity’s continued existence, and also some eldritch conspiracy regarding your first name. Hurry up and point that gun at me. Left shoulder.”

  
  


Without pause, Jo complied, aiming it at the man’s shoulder, left. He smiled. “What is he talking about, Henry?”

  
  


“I’m not wholly sure, Detective, he seems to refer a lot to some sort of television show or story, as if this were a work of fiction. If I’m being honest, I think he’s mentally ill.”

  
  


Oh no. He did not get out of it this easy. There was more to it than that. Crazy, yes, the guy might be, a self-confessed murderer, but he was also very, very accurate and none of the things he had said surprised Henry. Not the part about a 2,000 year-old immortal, not the mentions of his own deaths, not the Amused Voice’s claim he was omniscient. Henry knew more than he was telling her.

  
  


“ Your condition...you end up in the river...it’s not  _ terminal... _ is it...Henry, are you immortal?”

Henry looked so utterly lost, Jo wanted to apologise, wanted to hug him, to take back the question and go back to the days when things made sense. When Henry was just a bit weird and nothing more. In the background, the Amused Voice was punching the air in celebration. 

  
  


“ Jo- I…” Henry turned around. “You said you killed Adam.  _ Permanently _ . How?”

  
  


“ If I told you that, Doctor Morgan, I’d have to kill you.” The Voice said his face dark and murderous. Then he looked up and beamed brightly. “I have always wanted to say that. Like ‘take me to your leader’ You just have to wait until a situation where things are culturally relevant. Such as  _ ** now ** _ .  _ Adverbs. _ ”  he whispered, to nobody in particular, waving a pair of exceedingly dramatic hands. “ _ ADVERBS.” _

  
  


“Glad somebody’s enjoying things,” Jo muttered sarcastically, still pointing the gun past Henry to the man standing behind him. “Keep your hands above your head. But no punching the air, okay?”

  
  


“Why, will you arrest me for molecular assault?” quipped the Amused Voice.

  
  


“ Something like that. You’re under arrest for the  _ attempted  _ murder of Doctor Henry Morgan, murder of this...Adam who evidently was  _ not  _ immortal. You have the right to remain silent,”  _ which I suggest you exercise you talk way too much whoever you are  _  “ ...anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law.”

  
  


“ Very well,” the Amused Voice still seemed to be finding the entire thing  _ hilarious.  _ “‘ _ Take me to your leader. _ ’”

  
  


-

  
  


_ Detective Martinez’s ‘leader’, Lieutenant Joanna Reece, meanwhile, was sat at her desk drinking a cup of coffee, when the weirdest murder case of that week - yes, one weirder than Henry’s earlier mishap the day before - was dumped on her desk by Detective Jody (???) Martinez. The murderer was being very helpful, generous with location and time frame: he gave exact GPS co-ordinates on a  _ _ global  _ _ scale and the murder time to the second. And every officer sent in to interrogate him had come out in a state of terror; one had actually handed in their badge. So Lieutenant Reece resolved to conduct this particular interrogation by herself. _

  
  


_ There was one major fact she was unaware of, and that was Henry Morgan’s immortality. Detective Martinez had neglected to mention that one. Instead, she was headed back to Abe’s Antiques to hear, as Henry put it, a very long story. And right now, she had all the time in the world. _

  
  


_ Unlike Lieutenant Reece, whose patience was running thin. _

_ Unlike Lucas Wahl, who had missed out on speaking to Henry today and wanted to see him. Failing that, the man who had tried to kill him. _

  
  


_ Unlike many, many other people who at this moment were dying, their existences coming to an end in 3, 2, 1, there we go, Detective Jo Martinez had all the time in the world.  _

  
_ Which is good, because the story was very long indeed. _

 


	18. Long Stories

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry tells Jo his secret, and meanwhile, Lieutenant Reece becomes the audience for another long tale (18 chapters and counting). What she hears will be...a little underwhelming, if she's being honest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I have given way to the crack within. This chapter actually has some depth but uh the story is descending into farce and I'm putting the train full ahead because let's get real, this was destiny. We were always going to end up here.
> 
> I'm going back to the Pushing Daisies characters next chapter, I've been focusing rather a lot on Forever I feel, but Ned or Chuck's pov is next and then, I believe, a conclusion. Yes, I said that. Chapter twenty is the end. Tell your friends. If you have any. Sorry. That was mean.
> 
> But here we go. The first in the final three updates. In three weeks time, the story will be concluded. It's my longest fic ever and I'm going to miss it. Thank you so much for your support.

**Chapter 18**

**Long Stories**

  
  


_At this moment, the Narrator was 24,373 years, 8 months, 22 days and 23 hours four minutes old. And rather revelling in the chaos caused by his arrest._

  
  


_Yes, I know that was needlessly dramatic but nobody likes first person present tense, whereas I’m sure everyone will like my creative choices. As always. I mean I don’t see any other omniscient ancient beings offering to narrate so you just have to tolerate me, oh no how tragic._

  
  


_Quite the best thing about being arrested was the way the charges just piled up up up, from attempted murder, possible actual murder to identity fraud (in my day birth certificates were things that didn’t happen. I borrowed a few that_ _ weren’t  _ _mine) and well, nobody was sure. It was quite like Ned’s arrest earlier if you’re looking for a dramatic parallel. Nobody was certain what the charges were because nobody could stay in the interrogation room long enough before fleeing._

  
  


_Except Lieutenant Reece. She entered the cell without introducing herself, knowing deep down that this guy was by far the cleverest, most exceptional person they’d ever had and he was wonderful and amazing and he was definitely making this sentence up as he went along as an ego trip off-planet but it still stands. She was unwilling to let any of this show and so when she spoke her voice was disdainful and sarcastic (but she loves me really. She’s also giving me a death glare as I relay this entire thing to her)_

  
  


“ _Well, you’ve impressed my detectives, Mr…”_

  
  


“ _I don’t have a name, Lieutenant Joanna Reece. An identity is something, as a plot device, one can’t really afford.”_

  
  


_ Time to get psych on the phone  _ _Lieutenant Reece thought, somewhat rudely._

  
  


“ _No. It is not time to get psych on the phone. Look, you know something funny is going on in this department, and not funny in the amusing sense more ‘DOCTOR MORGAN NO’ sense and I know you aren’t stupid. You’ve checked the records. You know Henry Morgan’s been doing this for_ _quite some time._ _But you don’t know the full picture. I do. I could hardly tell this to your detectives now, could I, hence why I mildly traumatised a couple of them and why Detective Bailey handed in his badge. I knew you’d come in. I wanted you to be here. So I could tell you a very long story.”_

  
  


_Lieutenant Reece snorted, but was willing to see where this crazy train led her “Go on. Where’s this story start?”_

  
  


“ _It starts here, with me talking to you in an interrogation cell. It starts in the 1700s, it starts just the other day when Doctor Henry Morgan was so cruelly murdered and yes, you heard that right. It starts with pies. It starts with one sentence.”_

  
  


“ _Which is?”_

  
  


_A smile “The facts were these…in the city of New York, a 235 year old medical examiner by the name of Doctor Henry Morgan was about to die._ _ Again _ _...”_

  
  


-

  
  


“Immortal?”

  
  


Abe had wanted Henry to ‘come out’ to Jo for a long time, but somehow this wasn’t quite how he imagined it. Henry was stood there in silence, trying to figure out where to begin. At some point he’d probably say it was a long story and his son would just die a little inside.

  
  


He thought back to the day he had the talk, aged 10, considered old enough to keep a secret. It had been the coolest thing ever and promoted his father from boring stuffy stick-in-the-mud to legit actual real superhero. If only until his next lecture. Years had passed, 60 of them, and so many things had changed. For a start, Henry was not just his father now, but a friend and a complete idiot. And Abigail was gone. And Jo was here, now, and the talk was about to happen if Henry could just pull himself together and get it sorted.

  
  


“Go on, Henry. Tell her.”

  
  


“Yes Henry, do.”

  
  


Henry sighed. “Look, Jo, I didn’t tell you this sooner because you’d have thought I was crazy. It’s not gone so well before and-”

  
  


“I get it. Immortality. Sounds nuts.” Jo shrugged “So. How old are you?”

  
  


Henry stared at the floor, and Abe sighed “235,” he said, for his father. “He’s 235. Quite an age gap.”

  
  


Jo nodded, unable to do much else, forced into accepting that impossible truth “How long have you two known each other, since you’re sure as hell not his father’s business partner, are you?”

  
  


“No. He’s not,” Henry admitted quietly. “Abraham is, well, he’s my _son._ ” Jo stared. Her eyes had tripled in size. She looked between them, as if searching for similar features. “By adoption,” clarified Henry “But yes, I’m the one who raised him. To all intents and purposes, I am his father.”

  
  


Jo nodded again. “Okay. So the skinny dipping?”

  
  


“When I die I come back in water. Naked. Here it’s the river.”

  
  


“You _can_ die?”

  
  


“Not permanently,” Abe couldn’t help sounding thankful, despite what Henry always said about his ‘curse’ “He always comes back. Exactly the same. Kind of a blessing when you’re young, but gets a bit weird after you overtake you dad appearance-wise. Actually slightly sickening after a while, especially when you look the same age and go outside and girls start hitting on _him,_ please NO. Not appreciated”

  
  


“Okay. How did this start?”

  
  


“I was shot. Defending a man aboard a slave ship. I was the doctor. The owners wanted to kill my patient to save money. I stood between them and it earned me a bullet to the chest and a swim in the Atlantic.”

  
  


“Wait-” Jo appeared to be making connections “That ship, the Empress of Africa, you recognised it. That was the one you were on wasn’t it? You saved those people. Henry, it was _you_ ,” she seemed somewhat awestruck, wowed. “That’s incredible. It is. I’m still struggling to get my head round this but I’m getting there. So anyway, who’s Adam?”

“Do you remember when I had compulsory counselling?” Jo nodded “That gentleman was Adam. Do you remember my stalker?” Jo seemed confused, but then again this was a confusing situation, Abe couldn’t blame her for it. “He was one of Adam’s patients. Adam sent him after me to prove I could kill. He wanted me to become like him, a psychopath who killed indiscriminately.”

  
  


“Hey, hey,” Abe objected “That wasn’t true. He spared me. I was off limits. Because of what he went through at Auschwitz,” he explained to a baffled Jo “Adam was tortured by the Nazis, experimented on. He felt sympathy for me. He even found the camp records of my birth parents.”

  
  


“So it was him who-” Jo’s face betrayed a mind connecting all the dots. Realising everything was tied together, everything was one and the same and how the links were made. “And that guy I just arrested for his murder? I mean don’t get me wrong, Adam sounds like a delightful person but murder is still murder. So who’s that guy? Another immortal, I’m guessing. Omniscient? How does that even work? I’m guessing that was your first meeting with him so...”

  
  


“And last, hopefully,” Abe muttered. He wasn’t letting another psychopath get himself into his dad’s head. Not after Adam. All the mind games, the paranoia Henry had faced, the permanent fear of Adam getting to any of the people he cared about. The throwbacks to Abigail, the revelations, years of buried memories dredged up which was firstly and foremostly bad for Henry’s mental state. It hadn’t helped that Abe hadn’t been as trustworthy as he could have been, lying about Ned’s existence and the twins and his past. And more than he liked to admit. Oh. It occurred to Abe they’d have to explain Ned to Jo as well, which would be bizarre. Actually, they’d have to take her to the Pie Hole later and make sure the explanation went down.

  
  


“So what’s his deal? He wants us to get together? I mean,” Jo went red “That did seem to be a kinda bizarre goal.”

  
  


“He’s obsessed with storylines,” Henry said “He loves melodrama. Ultimately, I think he wanted us to have this talk and didn’t think it would happen without his intervention,”

  
  


“It wouldn’t have,” said Abe under his breath.

  
  


“Thank you for your contribution Abraham. Anyway. It was more than that. He wanted me to meet Ned, for a system to be set up for when Abe is-” Henry swallowed, and Abe placed a reassuring hand on his father’s shoulder “He wanted Adam out of the way. He wanted us to be _happy._ And the terrifying thing is, the plan’s working. We’re going over the the Pie Hole - Ned’s cafe - later today and then we’re visiting the twins so Abe can reconcile with them. And I’ve talked to you and-” Henry trailed off “It’s terrifying because all of this was engineered to happen.”

  
  


“Henry,” Jo shook her head and smiled “I get it. So long as you can still work cases with me, it’s all cool. I mean I’m not saying it isn’t weird, because it definitely is, but look, you’re the best M.E. I’ve ever worked with, probably because you’re two whole centuries older than most of the competition, and you’re my friend. So yeah. This is really weird for me to say, but I’ll be here for you Henry. I really do care about you.”

  
  


“Invite her out,” Abe hissed “Pie Hole. Tonight. I go see the twins, you two have one of Ned’s pies. Not to brag about my son’s prowess, but he makes really, really great pies.”

  
  


“Abraham, it tastes so good because he resurrects the fruit!” Henry replied, and Abe was stunned “Did you miss that part? He can’t eat any of his own pies because he makes them with rotten fruit that he what did he call it - oh yes, ‘alive agained’, not that I think the verb form is appropriate.”

  
  


“Resurrects?” Jo ventured, uncertainly “I think I’ll give that a pass, thank you.”

  
  


“Oh no, I assure you, it’s perfectly safe,” Henry began, then launched into a lecture about the revivification of fruit or whatever and Ned’s altogether bizarre set of abilities and Jo looked utterly lost and had to sit down, and Abe smirked, left the room, and realised that yes, it was terrifying. Because he was happy. That this happiness had been artificially brought about by a meddling hand, did that matter? Henry and Jo were sat in the living room together talking about the logistics of immortality and figuring out a plan for if Henry happened to die at any point, something that would deal with the skinny dipping situation.

  
  


The point wasn’t the happiness was overshadowed by the lies of the Narrator. The point was that the happiness was there, and that was all that mattered. Later, Abe knew he’d have to face and deal with the aftermath of another family he’d abandoned for Henry. But it didn’t feel so terrifying now. If it was going to go badly, surely the asshole who was pulling the strings would have thought of that and dealt with it by murdering someone tactically to make the twins accept Abraham’s presence. That sounded like his sort of plan.

  
  


A happy ending?

  
  


Now all the damn Narrator needed to do was butt out and stay the hell away, and everything would be absolutely perfect.

  
  


Just the way it was supposed to be.

  
  


-

  
  


_Meanwhile in the Pie Hole, Ned and Chuck had just got out of their respective beds, later than usual, when they received a call from Abraham telling them Henry was totally definitely absolutely bringing a date to shouts of ‘it’s not actually a date’ in the background followed by ‘oh, alright Jo, since it’s you’ and a female voice saying ‘oh god you’re so hopeless at this, Henry’ and laughing incessantly._

  
  


_And Lucas decided to make a personal call to the Pie Hole to order a ‘please-stop-skinny-dipping-I’m-genuinely-worried’ pie, an as yet uninvented category Ned would have to invent on the spot. Possibly a bad idea on his behalf, but he was not currently aware of this fact. He had some surprises to come yet. Instead,  a ‘Henry-Morgan-is-a-secret-immortal-oops-sorry-we-didn’t-tell-you-sooner’ pie was potentially on the menu. Deliciaso..._

  
  


_And meanwhile all of this long, long story is being relayed to Lieutenant Reece in verbal diarrhoea form-_

“ _You realise I know who all these people are and you don’t need to give overly long descriptions...or their age in milliseconds?”_

  
  


“ _An Ancient Proverb of my people goes as follows; ‘don’t hate ‘cause you ain’t’. Lieutenant, I have a methodology. We can follow it, or we can flounder around helplessly like flailing fish. Don’t worry, you get a cameo or several later on, chapter 6 I think, or should I say know because I know everything, and I say plenty of nice things about you there. Or Jo does. Chapter 6 is one of her chapters.”_

  
  


“ _I hope to god you don’t dramatically narrate my age because I swear if you do I’m sending you down.”_

  
  


“ _No, no, only nice things. Admiration.”_

  
  


“ _Good. Because omniscient, immortal, whatever, I can still whoop your ass, got it?”_

  
  


_Dear God that woman is TERRIFYING_ _**(Lieutenant Reece’s rude-ass interuptions: I should sincerely hope so)**_ _I’m glad somebody’s happy. And I really would like to go soon would you please release me?_ _ **(Not until we’re done. We aren’t done yet, are we?)**_

  
  


_No. We aren’t._

_We really, really aren’t._

  
  
  



	19. Pie-based Metaphors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter. Henry and Jo encounter Lucas at the Pie Hole, and discuss (via a number of covert non-verbal strategies) inducting him into the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee. Meanwhile, the Narrator contemplates his place in the world as a storyteller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DEAR LORD I'M SO NEARLY DONE IT FRIGHTENS ME. I procrastinated writing this because I'm not ready to let go. I'm not the only one (spoilers). After this, there is one conclusive chapter and we're done. During my procrastination, to be fair to me, I played Cards Against Humanity, watched Benedict Cumberbatch's Hamlet and then MAD MAX FURY ROAD. I've been saying it for the last few chapters though - this is it. And it scares me so much. 
> 
> Am I ready to let go? Yes, I think so. And so I bring you to the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee (albeit not their full membership) for almost the last time...
> 
> (Oh and the bold, underlined italic sections are Lieutenant Reece's rude-ass interruptions. She is also part of the audience. For clarity, the Narrator is telling the story to her as well as you and this causes some interesting semi-dialogue later. Only emboldened text though)

**Chapter 19**

**Pie-based Metaphors**

  
  


_As Doctor Morgan and Detective Martinez headed over to the Pie Hole for dinner (pie), the Piemaker Ned was baking (pie), rolling out the dough (for pie) and cutting it into a circular  shape (using pi). All in all it was a rather pie-based evening, pastry placed upon a lid of fruit and shoved into a metaphorical oven, though what any of it represented was somewhat beyond normal human comprehension. Of course, I understand the analogy perfectly -_ _ **yes, we know, you’re better than everyone and sunlight shines out of your ass, please just get on with it** _ _\- apologies. That is Lieutenant Reece. While relaying this tale to you, I am also relaying it to her_ _ **(who the hell are you talking to?)** _ _. She refuses to stop interrupting and I for one will not attempt to silence her for fear of my immortal soul._

  
  


_Anyway. Pie intensifies. Pie squared. Never square pie, it is an abomination that will not be tolerated. At least not by the Piemaker. Round pies only, please._

  
  


_At this moment, then, let us presume the pie has just been placed into the oven. Which it has. Deliciaso! Detective Martinez and Doctor Morgan are on their way, Lucas Wahl is on his way, Lucas Wahl_ _ is halfway through the door, the bell dings, Lucas Wahl, Lucas Wahl is here. Now. _

  
  


“ _Lucas, hey, what a surprise!” That is Chuck. As she says this, Ned closes the oven stands up abruptly, hauling himself to his feet and his full height. Bumping his head on the counter as he does so. It is not his fault. For being so tall. He gets it from his mother._

  
  


“ _Lucas…” An uncertain voice quavers, teetering only inches away from accidentally laying hands upon Chuck. That is Ned. Suddenly he stumbles and his hand comes into contact with her bare arm…_ _ **Excuse my rudeness but what is this shit? Are you telling me-**_ _forgive me, Lieutenant, but please allow me to finish what I was saying. It’s very important._

  
  


_Are you sitting comfortably?_ _ **Do I look comfortable?** _

  
  


_Good. Well, Ned just grabbed Chuck’s arm to stabilise himself, blah, blah, blah, that was a thing that happened, but you were to busy being outraged to bother listening to me. What I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted was this:_

  
  


_ Thank God for baking gloves. _

  
  


_ **...you motherf-** _

  
  


_Language. Think of the children._

  
  


_Cataclysm averted, the Piemaker backs away from Chuck awkwardly, pressing himself into a corner, hunching himself up as small as he can make himself; that being, ‘not very’. Meanwhile, Chuck pretends not to notice how close to death she came. That is somewhat a feature of her life._

  
  


_The pie cooks._

  
  


_And so the progression of events moves on, as the pastry in the oven browns, beginning its gradual rise. The metaphor ripens. And I admit to you, here and now, that I’m not quite sure of the symbolism myself. Only that the story must be told. That is rather my function._

  
  


_And the pie cooks._

  
  


_Deliciaso._

  
  


_-_

  
  


It is very difficult for a man 6’4’’ in height to make himself disappear, without aid of magical gimmicks (and Ned, as Chuck knew, hated gimmicks). Otherwise, he was doing an admirable job all on his own, pressing himself into the corner as if he were trying to dissolve into the wall. Unfortunately, he proved to be insoluble in plaster, and awkwardly pulled himself up to his usual stoop, somewhere between that attempted vanishing act and his real height.

  
  


Chuck put on a brave face and smiled. “Lucas! How are you? Have you seen Henry lately?”

  
  


“He...took time off,” Lucas said, quietly, saying what was to him unthinkable, his words making it true. “I’m worried about him. Smartest guy I know but I don’t know, he’s been...rattled.”

  
  


Of course he had. He had, briefly, become the focus point of a Mystery, the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy, as Emerson had christened it. And discovered he had a grandson who, appearance-wise, barely looked younger than himself. And there had been the stuff with Abigail, and that creeper Adam and whoever the heck that was calling over the phone. The Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee had been run off its feet within seconds of its founding. Emerson was still refusing to change his business name to that. He was, however, already working on a pop-up book of the whole affair, especially for his daughter, although he had been forced to cut out certain parts involving Ned’s powers, or names, addresses, and entire characters such as Abigail and Adam had been removed altogether, in apparent war on the first letter of the alphabet. Nobody would ever believe it was based upon life.

  
  


Still. Chuck rather suspected Doctor Morgan wouldn’t be particularly pleased with that development. They would have to talk to him about it. Now that would be a conversation…

  
  


“Ned?” Chuck turned and smiled at her boyfriend reassuringly. “I’m alright. Everything’s fine. I’ll show Lucas to a table, you keep working on the pies.”

  
  


Ned nodded, not even objecting at her proximity to Lucas, which worried her further but, she thought to herself, Ned would be alright. Ned always was. He was stronger than his anxiety-ridden exterior would outwardly suggest. He had needed to be. As she crossed the room with their customer, she made a heart with her hands and smiled at him, and he went bright red and looked away, grinning uncontrollably. He was so cute. He really was the most adorable guy she’d ever met. Lucas couldn’t compete with that. Nobody could.

  
  


“Lucas, I saw Henry earlier and he seemed fine. He’s going to be okay. Shall I get you a menu?”

  
  


“No thanks,” Lucas managed an awkward smile “Apple pie for me, please.”

  
  


“Coming right up,” she fetched a slice of the crisp brown apple pie “Cream, ice-cream…?”

  
  


“Uh...whip please...cream, I mean cream! Whipped cream, whipping cream...” It was a gift of Lucas’ to take a situation that was not particularly awkward and make it _infinitely_ so, for instance, by saying ‘whip’ instead of ‘whipped’ at implausible times, and he was unstoppable once he started digging. One day he would dig himself so deep he would emerge in China and promptly get himself arrested by saying something unfavourable about the Communist party by complete accident. At least he would have a certain escape plan while in prison - just keep digging until you see the sunlight on the other end.

  
  


“Lucas. Calm down. It’s fine.” How did he even go outside, she wondered as she squirted the cream with a satisfying sdplkrjghgt noise, how?

  
  


Returning with the dessert (pie) she placed it in front of Lucas and sat down opposite him. In her peripheral vision, she could see Ned awkwardly hovering around the kitchen, while Lucas shifted in his seat, in a similar state of intense awkwardness. It could have been the annual general meeting of the Introvert’s Anonymous.

  
  


“You saw Henry?” Lucas asked, chewing on his pie, nearly choking on a piece of alive-agained apple “I mean I guess he’s practically family, isn’t he? I heard about, you know, Ned, Abe, that thing. Abe’s basically Henry’s dad so it’s like you’ve got a new brother.”

  
  


Simultaneously, both Chuck and Ned collapsed into sudden uncontrollable laughter (because irony, not kuru. Although that would be pretty ironic too, it rather lacks comedic timing and the punchline is a little on the dark side). Through tears of hysteria, Chuck could see Lucas mid-chew, looking between them with considerable bafflement. Crossing the room, Chuck climbed onto the counter and high-fived her boyfriend’s baking glove, then continued laughing.

  
  


“What? What did I say? Did I say something wrong oh my god I’m sorry I didn’t mean to I didn’t know uh that uh I don’t even know what it is I don’t know but I don’t know it uh… um… uh… for the record I knew this was a bad idea. See, you guys all know each other so well  and whenever I come round I always feel like the Klingon intruder except like with a normal forehead and less physical strength but, but it’s really weird because Ned’s more awkward than I am, and you don’t laugh at him because you know him. I’m not exactly a cool guy, I’m used to being laughed at, but you guys-” Lucas broke off “I know I mess up, and maybe I accidentally hit on Chuck once or twice, my bad, but you don’t have to be such jerks about it.”

  
  


The two stopped laughing, and it occurred to Chuck that Lucas was trying to be their friend. Just like he was with Doctor Morgan.

  
  


“Uh, anyway,” Lucas continued, speech over, discomfort suddenly overwhelming him again “I’ll just go. Can I place an order for a pie for Henry? ‘Get well soon’, or something? I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made this weird, just wanted to be able to hang with you guys, wait, chill, not hang, you guys don’t know anyone who hanged themselves do you? I’m sorr-”

  
  


“It’s fine,” Ned said calmly, straightening himself up for a brief moment and Chuck had never loved him more as he said those words of forgiveness “We’re cool.”

  
  


A jingle, as the bell on the door rang. They all turned to look at the entrants. Henry was holding the door open for that badass female detective, Jo. The M.E. noticed his assistant’s presence and seemed taken aback “Lucas? What are you-?”

  
  


“I’m not stalking you!” blurted Lucas, then he blanched “Why did I say that?”

  
  


“Foot-in-mouth disorder?” Chuck suggested, shrugging as she showed the couple (were they a couple? There was definite tension and Lucas had made reference to their being as such) to their table, providing them both with menus “We’ve got a couple of pies in at the moment, actually, one blueberry and one pecan. And we have a selection of chilled pies, berry, lemon-” she trailed off, then lowered her voice “Henry, can I, you know, talk to you?”

  
  


Doctor Morgan seemed a little baffled, never having had a real conversation with Chuck at all, but it was hard to argue when you were being dragged into a side-room by the arm and forced to discuss the elephant - or M.E.’s assistant in the room.

  
  


“Henry, you have to tell Lucas. He’s acting even weirder than usual. He’s...worried about you. When he thought you were dead he cried. I had to hug him. It was kind of awkward, especially since Ned…look, Henry, Lucas is the perfect person to tell. He believes everything you say, he’s nice, and if you told that man to keep a secret he would take it to his grave with him, you hear me?”

  
  


Henry shook his head “We can’t tell Lucas. He’ll be insufferable. You know he reads those illustrated stories with superheroes in, he’ll think I’m some sort of…what’s that one with those two fantastic gentlemen from Shakespearean tradition who play chess inside a plastic cube? One of them is in a wheeled chair and the other has a penchant for helmets.”

  
  


“X-Men?” Chuck asked, confused “You’re worried he’ll think you’re a mutant? That he’ll be enthusiastic about it? He’s Lucas, he’s enthusiastic by nature. Henry, he just wants you to like him. Your opinion is important to him. _You_ are important to him.”

  
  


“Who should I tell next, the barista down the street from the precinct? Hello, my name’s Henry Morgan and I’m secretly immortal? Why do I need to tell Lucas?”

  
  


“Because he deserves to know. If it goes badly, just say it was, I don’t know, a joke.” Chuck shrugged “Improvise.”

  
  


“Fine. But we tell him about Ned too.”

  
  


“That’s not fair. Ned’s...Ned. We hadn’t even told Olive until she wandered into the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee that time. He takes things at his own pace.”

  
  


“And your entire relationship is based on no physical contact.”

  
  


“That’s not fair! I’d die if Ned touched me and you know it. Besides, that’s not to say we haven’t figure out...stuff.” She was not talking about this with Ned’s grandfather, Ned’s actual 235-year old grandfather. “Anyway, I never asked and the topic needs changing because YOU’RE. NED’S. GRANDFATHER. So. How does dying feel for you?”

  
  


Henry shrugged “It depends. Not particularly pleasant. And you?”

  
  


“It only happened once. I got murdered for some golden monkeys. Suffocated. It was pretty messed up, but hey, everything happens for a reason. And I met Ned again because of it. Like you’ve met people because of yours. Back to the matter at hand. Do we induct Lucas into the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee or not?”

  
  


“When he’s ready. Which is to say, not yet.”

  
  


Chuck smiled “Adverbs.”

  
  


Not _yet_.

  
  


They headed back into the main diner where Ned asked what Chuck talked about and Jo asked what Henry was talking about, and he made vague comment and subtle writing on a napkin to broach the expansion of the SSUMC to include one more person, who was about to leave the diner right at this very moment. By way of meaningful looks, raised eyebrows, Morse code blinking and napkin semaphore, the motion was relayed around the present members and a decision appeared to be agreed upon, though because none of them save Henry were familiar with semaphore and Ned and Chuck were fluent in morse code but they kept coordinating their blink-messages at the same time, nobody could tell what the decision actually was.

  
  


At which point, Jo stood up. “Lucas, wait. We need to tell you something.”

  
  


Lucas turned, visible delight on his face and _yet_ became _now_. He came over to their table and shuffled next to them. “You guys can tell me anything.”

  
  


_Oh boy_ Chuck thought _he is going to eat those words, with a side order of whipped cream and a slice of pecan pie. Or blueberry. Is Lucas allergic to nuts?_ She couldn’t remember. Mind you, if they did accidentally kill him, they had a doctor, they had a piemaker, and if Ned did have to resurrect Lucas, Henry could die and come back easy, while the rest of them hid just out of proximity. Chuck wasn’t sure why she was figuring out exact logistics for this. They should really keep Henry around in future in case any permanent resurrections were to be had. It would be awkward if that actually killed him though. A little more than awkward. Probably best not to try.

  
  


Yet became now.

  
  


And so the pie cooks.

  
  


-

  
  


_Actually they were all rather busy with fascinating revelations and ‘Is it like Wolverine?’ questions - NO LUCAS they all shouted IT IS NOT LIKE WOLVERINE and Henry shot Chuck an exceptionally telling look which, once decoded out of Glare-speak, read ‘I’m pretty certain Wolverine is one of those Ex-Males and that makes him a mutant, ergo proving my earlier point’. It’s quite hard to convey an ergo via one’s eyebrows alone, but a family with eyebrows like that has no difficulty in such matters. Now all Ned needs to work on is his semaphore._

  
  


_Because they were so busy, by the time Ned removed the pie, the oven had become a furnace and they were in fact a little on the charcoal side but no-one minded a bit. Because of the wonderful magic of friendship._

  
  


_ **Are you seriously going there?** _

  
  


_I am afraid so. And anyway, on another note._

  
  


_Adam is dead. Henry and Jo are talking about his immortality. Abe has agreed to visit the twins. What more can I do for them? Nothing, except make them uncomfortable with my ever-intrusive powers. But it is not time to leave. Before that, I have to say goodbye, to visit those characters - no, those people. When you start to think of people as characters and life as your story, that is when you cease to be human. Even Adam didn’t manipulate events like I do._

  
  


_After one more farewell, I will leave. Once again I will detach myself from the world and stay gone this time. It is not my world anymore. There is only one thing stopping me from removing myself to an isolated island, getting myself a farm on Fiji, with a sheep, a cow, and three horses…_

  
  


_ **Do enlighten me.** _

  
  


_I will miss the telling of tales._

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I did reference Red Dwarf. Or rather, the Narrator did. Rule of thumb, if you think there's a reference, there probably is.


	20. Endings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Narrator bids the SSUMC farewell, and gives them some helpful advice for the future. How helpful it is really depends on your perspective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOLY FUCK THIS IS IT APOLOGIES FOR THE LANGUAGE BUT I mean wow. I've been saying goodbye for the past few chapters but this is it. And it's whimsical and silly and it's emotional for me because I have been writing this since June. Maybe even late May. It's been with me for five months, skipping my August hiatus to Hong Kong. I've never put so much time into a fic. It's taken effort and I never cry at anything, honestly I don't, but I'm nearly tearing up writing this. Sorry the note will probably be longer than the chapter, please bear with.
> 
> I appreciate you all so much. All you people who leave kudos and never comment, I see you people and I love it. And my commenters, god, you have kept me going through stress and frustration, you've put up with my silliness and my insane plot twists and I'm so glad you have. This has been a crossover I never saw coming, and truth be told, I've been making almost every chapter up on the fly, writing them in my two-hour lesson breaks on Thursday and Friday (it was worse during the holidays, I was spending my writing time on tumblr instead and not getting anything done). I started this with no idea where it was going, no plan, just a stupid promise to update weekly, because I didn't want to be one of those writers who you spent time waiting forever for updates. 
> 
> So yeah. Thanks to all you guys. Thanks to my friend who refuses to tell me her name on ao3 bc I'm guessing she writes hardcore porn or smth, but she's helped me edit some of the chapters and her feedback has been awesome. Thanks to regular commenters, you know who you are and I love you guys. Thanks to everyone who left any comment, even if it's only one, everyone who gave kudos. It's been insane. Absolutely mental. But amazing. I can't say I loved every minute because I've struggled through it, but it's been a cliche metaphorical rollercoaster and here it is. The ending. I'm getting way too emotional over this. But this is it, and I'm letting go, laying the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy to rest. I've gone on for far too long but anyway, this is it. 
> 
> An Ending.  
> I hope it doesn't disappoint.

**Chapter Twenty**

**Endings**

  


_As anyone knows, the ending of a story is the hardest part. Especially when you exist solely to tell stories, to be a walking plot device. Ending a story, letting go, is rather like death, or the closest thing to death I am likely to know. There will always be another mystery. There may even be another Vanishing Dead Guy. But those two elements conjoined together, twisted one around the other with Piemakers who touch dead things back to life, with Olive Snook-Mann-Snook and her musical numbers, with the sincere awkwardness of Lucas Wahl...they will never occur together again. The Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy is an anomaly in itself, a story that was never supposed to happen, a rambling sequence of coincidences that should not have been, a fairytale, a pipe dream, a crack fic, a-_

  


_A_ _ narrative.  _

  


_And here I am, and there you are, listening, or reading, or watching a monkey conduct interpretative dance. You are far better listeners/readers/viewers than Lieutenant Reece, god bless that fantastic woman, you do not interrupt quite so often. We parted ways earlier today. What could she have charged me with - aside from the murder, attempted murder and identity fraud? No, she thought better of sending me down. I said goodbye, she said (forgive my abysmal impersonation)_ ‘  _ **I hope to god I never see your sorry ass again’** _ _which I think, on balance, was fair. Perhaps interfering in fate was wrong. Perhaps. My personal regret does not matter, because I am only a plot device. I myself am not important._

  


_Only the story._

  


_The story._

  


_And at this moment, yes, at this_ _ very moment  _ _, a group of people who should never have all been in the same room, were all together in a quaint little cafe that specialised in baked goods of the pie variety, were meeting, celebrating, the second gathering of the Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee. Three generations of the Morgan family, minus the twins who Abraham was intending to visit. A man named Emerson Cod. A girl named Chuck. A hard-as-nails police detective. Olive Mann-Snook-Mann. Lucas, oh dear sweet Lucas._

_And one more. At the door._

  


_Knock knock._

_ Who’s there?  _

  


_(well obviously it’s me but the SSUMC don’t know that shh they’ll hear your complaints through the fourth wall-_

  


_-_

  


“We’re clos-” Pie-Boy began, breaking off when he saw Henry and Jo’s faces. Emerson looked at the interloper, and the interloper got his interloping ass inside and shrugged sheepishly. Everyone stared.

  


“You-” began the VDG, in puzzled confusion. His hardass cop girlfriend (or whatever she was) went for her gun. Corpse Guy, Lucas Whateverhisnamewas, narrowed his eyebrows in baffled recognition.

  


“Hey,” he began “Aren’t you that guy who I saw getting dragged into the precinct by Jo earlier, which was kind of hot I mean- not you I mean-”

  


“I’m hurt,” the Interloping Psychic Government Spy Alien said, in an amused tone, with an amused expression on his amused face. “Lucas, the amount of protesting about your sexuality does nothing to further your cause and only convinces everyone around you that you are in Narnia. That is to say, closeted. Now I’m not judgemental, but if you, my friend, are completely 100% heterosexual I’m not an ‘Interloping Psychic Government Spy Alien’ you have changed the nickname Mr. Cod.”

  


Emerson snickered slightly. He always loved feeding off the embarrassment of others. He was silenced by simultaneous glares from everyone in the room, excepting the Interloper, who was smiling disarmingly, revelling in the chaos he had caused.

  


“What are you doing here?” the VDG asked, his face a mask of thinly veiled fury.

  


“To say goodbye. To conclude. You all deserve an ending. And you all deserve an apology. I am aware you dislike my meddling. I am aware you despise my existence. Here we go,

  


“Emerson Cod. You will get custody of your Lil Gumshoe. Everything will go swimmingly until she reaches the age of fifteen years, seven days, three hours and twenty-two seconds old, when she will come home with a nose piercing and a boyfriend named Chad. You should respect her choice- yes, even if-”

  


“Even if it is a stupid-ass one,” Emerson finished “Where is Chad now? I’m gonna kill him.”

  


“Chad is asleep. He still has a teddy bear. The bear is seven years, eight months and 2.1 hours old. And is called Fluffbert.”

  


“You can’t kill a kid!” protested Dead Girl. “Emerson!”

  


“It’s not the kid I’m worried about. It’s the damn fool who thinks he can date my daughter. And who has a bear called Fluffbert, for God’s sake? That’s a disturbed mind right there.”

  


“ _Indeed_. Now. Olive Snook-Mann, Mann-Snook…”

  


-

  


“Please,” the Interloping Interloper said to her sincerely “Keep your maiden name. It’s much easier to narrate. Also your child is a boy. The first time you will bring him to the Pie Hole, he will be absolutely fascinated and break into the kitchen. Also climb inside the oven by mistake out of an inherent desire to become a pie, but that’s just a phase. He’ll grow up to be a piemaker.”

  


-

  


“Lucas,” said the Awesome Omniscient Badass “First of all, I’m not a badass. It’s an illusion caused by knowing what to say when, an infallible sense of comic timing. Really I am, ultimately, like you.”

  


“Really?” Lucas couldn’t believe an actual Watcher from the Marvel comics universe was comparing himself to...to a nerd like Lucas, a guy who actually knew who the Watchers were! Nobody knew who the Watchers were.

  


“What is more nerdy than literal omniscience? And please, don’t compare me to the Watchers. I’m not such a fan of Marvel. Now Destiny of the Endless from the DC universe, that’s much better. But the point stands. And now for a spoonful of sincerity to help the medicine go down. Lucas - you are not a loser. We all get awkward and babble sometimes even when we know what it is we have to say. It happens. My point is thus; you must not underrate yourself because you are used to everyone underrating you.”

  


Overwhelmed, Lucas wanted to hug the Narrator so badly. And the Narrator knew this. Standing up, he patted Lucas on the back and waited until the embrace had subsided before saying; “I won’t tell you your future, Lucas. But you will do fascinating things. Also, you will be single for a total of seventeen more days.” Lucas’ ears pricked up until the Narrator added  “Well, a year, four months and seventeen days, plus or minus sixteen minutes.”

  


“Which one?” the morgue attendant asked, setting a memo on his phone.

  


The Narrator smiled. “ _Plus.”_

  


-

  


“Abraham,” The Nutjob turned his attention to him, now. Abe felt quite uncomfortable with those eyes, that smile, creeping him out “Please don’t call me that. I don’t mean to creep you out-” Okay that was weird “Weird? I know right!” the _Narrator_ beamed “Weird is an intricately fascinating adjective. I mean, I prefer adverbs, like ‘weird-ly’, but weird is alright. Now. Do you remember the time you saved Ned’s life in secret because you got an anonymous tip on a paper napkin? Surprise, me, as per usual. I am about to do something similar, albeit less potential doom.” He moved quickly, the click of a mechanical pencil _yes he is a massive freaking nerd, who even owns those things anymore_ “ I’m glad you like it, Abraham. And here-” on the paper napkin he had written an address. “The twins are on tour right now, staying at this address for the next four and a seventh of a day. Go and see them.” Tomorrow. “Not tomorrow, you chronic procrastinator, today, nay, _now_.”

  


“What does that adverb mean, I wonder?” Abe muttered sarcastically.

  


“It means get in your car now and drive. _NOW._ Also...don’t get embarrassed. You’ll know what I mean.”

  


Abe wasn’t sure how he ended up in his car, and couldn’t quite remember how he found himself at the given address. But he did. Sighing reluctantly he knocked on the door.

  


Knock knock.

Who’s there?

  


“Hello-” he began. “It’s me.”

  


He got no further before the identical strangers hugged him. And he cried, without being embarrassed. He cried _,_ and he knew what that asshole meant. He _cried._

  


_Thank God that jerk’s leaving._ Abe thought _there is only so much of this I can take. And I have a pretty high tolerance for weirdos._

  


-

  


“Charlotte ‘Chuck’ Charles.”

  


“Yes?” Chuck was actually excited about this. For a sort-of murderer/mercy killer with insane powers of manipulation, the Narrator was oddly likable. He had said only nice things so far, why should she be any different? Suddenly her mind became full of concerns, what-ifs, what if she was going to die again, what if something happened to her or Ned or-

  


“Consider adoption. There is a child waiting. He will make a good starting point. Right now he is asleep with his seven-year-and-some teddy bear called Fluffbert. His name is Chad. Short for Chaddesley Charles? It has a ring to it, no?”

  


“Pie-Boy, you keep your hypothetical son away from my daughter you hear me?” Ned did not hear Emerson. He was beaming uncontrollably. “You hear me? Having you for an in-law would be one step too crazy.”

  


“Emerson,” Olive interrupted “How do you feel about being a godparent?”

  


“A damn sight better than Chad’ll be feeling when I get my hands on him,” muttered Emerson, but you could see a smile trying to get through “Fine. Godfather? I could do that. But I’ll still be keeping an eye on Chad.”

  


Chuck smiled. She wanted to hug the Narrator too. The man turned to Ned.

  


“You don’t mind if I…?” Ned shook his head.

  


“Go on.”

  


The Narrator hugged Chuck and her smile transitioned to a full on grin.

  


“Also,” the Narrator began, while still enveloped in Chuck’s arms “Invest in a morphsuit. It will be a worthwhile purchase. Yellow? I quite agree. Buy yourself a yellow morphsuit. It will be very much worthwhile.”

  


-

  


“Detective...I’m sorry, what is your actual first name? It is rather humiliating to have to ask this, all things considered.”

  


Jo’s hand was still on her gun and she didn’t trust this asshole as far as she could throw him…

  


“77.7cm.”

  


Great. Just what she’d always wanted to know. Reluctantly, she allowed Henry to make her put her gun away. Then she turned to the Narrator. “So. You got what you wanted. The VGD-”

  


“ _Vanishing Guy Dead?”_

  


“ _The VDG_ _ thing  _ is all tied up, and everybody suddenly likes you because you said some nice things and told them their futures would be wonderful. I don’t buy it.” Henry  was objecting, and the Detective felt as though she needed to clarify. “I mean, I’d like a happy ending, but I don’t want to see you ever again.”

  


“I know.” _Namely because you insist upon making jokes like that._ “I wasn’t joking, Detective Martinez.”

  


“Neither was I. I don’t want to know my future. I will figure it out myself.” The Narrator nodded. “And by the way,” Jo continued “My name’s just Jo. It’s not short for anything. My parents thought they were being cool.”

  


“Of course.” The Narrator smiled “One little tip - Lieutenant Reece knows about Henry and Ned and did I mention she’s single and hates Emerson Cod which is why I think you should-”

  


“Get them together? Are you serious?”

  


Emerson, half-listening, half eating slightly scorched apple pie insisted “I don’t date cops. I have principles.”

  


“I warn you, Mr. Cod, that woman is fierce, and I mean that in the most 21st century usage of the word.”

  


The unscrupulous Private-Eye suddenly seemed to start listening again. “Is she? You mind...uh…”

  


“Her number?” the Narrator shook his head “I am not a dating website, Mr. Cod. You need to meet her for yourself. Detective - Jo - all I wanted to say was please introduce your charming Lieutenant to Emerson Cod. Tell her I said it would be a good idea. Also give her this envelope.”

  


“What envelope?” Suddenly the Narrator was brandishing a brown envelope with the words WARNING DO NOT OPEN BECAUSE CROCODILES written in red ink on the outside. “What’s in it?”

  


“Not crocodiles.” He said vaguely, having only written ‘CROCODILES’ on the envelope in order to make a cheap joke, and then turned to Ned.

  


-

  


“Ned... _Ned_ ...first of all, you should serve oreo pie here. It would be a goldmine. _Will_ be a goldmine.” Why had he never thought of that before? “I don’t know,” said the Narrator “But you need to serve oreo pie. I cannot conceive of a single reason why oreo pie is not on your menu. I will return here once, and only once, and it will be for the oreo pie. Oreo. Pie.”

  


“That is a genius idea!” exclaimed Chuck “But would we expect anything less?”

  


“This coming from the man who thought the Mystery of the Vanishing Dead Guy was a good idea?” interjected Emerson “Yes. We would.”

  


The Narrator seemed to think for a while, and Ned grew increasingly nervous “Don’t worry, Ned. They will never abandon you. The SSUMC is nothing without pie. Oh, and they care about you. A lot. So that is rather a contributing factor. They will never abandon you. And you _will_ be a good father. Trust me.  Ned, you are the Piemaker. It is not a role that frequently factors into stories, except for the occasional villainous cook. And you are good, undisputably so.”

  


“Where does my gift come from?” Ned had to ask “Why do I have it? What is the point?”

  


“Your gift? Its origin is inconsequential. Perhaps, perhaps, it comes from a father who dabbled in magic and accidentally wound up ensuring something would come and gift his son with a bizarre talent.” The Narrator shrugged “That would make a good story, if it were true.”

  


“And is it?”

  


“Perhaps.”

  


“Adverbs again,” muttered Ned.

  


“Adverbs again,” echoed the Narrator. “Indeed. One more thing. You can never touch Henry again. The effect lingers a little. If you touch Henry, he will wake up in the river naked and have to swim back, simply delighting the tourists but not delighting him.”

  


“Quite the opposite,” Henry snorted “Have we got around to my turn yet?”

  


“Patience, Doctor Morgan, patience. You have a lot of time left. I am speaking to Ned. Ned...you need to-”

  


“Believe in myself? Have faith? Be more confident? Be true to my soul and wish upon a star?”

  


The Narrator chuckled “I was going to say, buy Chuck a morphsuit. And whenever Fluffbert goes missing, he will always be behind the sofa. But those other things too. You are more capable than you think. You have a family who love you, a Super-Secret Undead Murder Committee who care for you. I know what you can do, Ned. Trust me. I know things. I know everything. Pretty much anyway.”

  


“Thank you. I mean, you were kind of a jerk but you created this. The SSUMC is your baby. You helped us. And I mean it was creepy but I mean, you did the right thing. Kind of. Sort of. You made good things happen. Does that make sense?”

  


The Narrator shook his head “I understand your point, but as Emerson Cod thought internally earlier, there is a vast semantic line between omniscience and wisdom. And I am worlds away from the latter. This meddling was wrong. I should not have...there should be rules. Treating people like characters. That’s where evil begins. When you _use_ people. When  the value of stories outweigh human life.”

  


“You did the right thing,” Ned said uncertainly “You gave us this chance.”

  


“I didn’t give you a choice though.”

  


“How would that have gone? Hello, I’m an omniscient, would you like to participate in a social experiment I promise it will end happily and with only an itty-bitty bit of murder?” Emerson grumbled “I’d have told you to check into a psych ward.”

  


“I’d have hit you with a saucepan,” added Olive.

  


“I’d have arrested you,” said Jo

  


“You _did_ arrest me!”

  


“Exactly.”

  


“I’d have fled the country and lived under a pseudonym for the next seventy years,” Everyone stared at Henry, then looked at the Narrator curiously.

  


The Narrator sighed heavily “Seventy-seven years, seven months, one week, 19 hours and 7 minutes.”

“I swear you make these numbers up,” Emerson said irritably “Do they even work out mathematically? Or are you bullshitting us?”

  


“Yes.”

  


Emerson performed a remarkable equivalent of the sighing by just rolling his eyes. It was a skills of his. He could probably win a talent show. Or...maybe yes definitely _not_.

  


“Any...you know, final advice?”

  


“Yes. Keep an eye on Henry,” said the Narrator sincerely “One day, Ned, he will be ready and I will tell you what I did to Adam. And Henry will be able to _choose_ what he does next rather than the storyline being foisted upon him. I know the answer to the choice, but-”

  


-

  


“I will not tell you, Henry. I cannot. There has to be a line. What sort of a choice would it be if I told you how to answer? It is your story. Not mine.”

  


Henry was uncertain how to respond. “Meaningful advice? What have you got to tell me?”

  


“Nothing,” said the Narrator “I am very sorry for causing your death. Twice. Henry, my advice to you is make your own choices. Do not let your curse, gift, _semantics_ , do not let your immortality dominate your existence. Do not fear living because your life does not end. Do not shy away from the light and become like Adam. Just enjoy life. You have had a gift, far longer than most get - well, you know, Adam and I are outliers and should not be counted - you have done some exceptional things...I am a tad jealous.” Henry couldn’t believe his ears “You are able to live an ordinary life. With Detective Jo-just-Jo Martinez and Abraham and Ned the Piemaker. You have that choice. So that is my advice to you. ‘ _Do not go gentle into that good night_ ’”

  


“‘ _Rage, rage against the dying of the light’._ ” Henry finished “What is the relevance of that quote here?”

  


“You will understand. When I call Ned and give him the facts, and you are presented with a difficult choice. You must decide. Will you go? Or will you _rage_? That is your decision to make. And Henry - a tip. Never become omniscient,” the Narrator laughed softly “It does somewhat ruin your life. At any rate, it has been a pleasure. Maybe not for you, and of that I am truly sorry. But you are something rare enough, and I tell you this, narrating your story has given me no greater pleasure in a long time. Well, since Pushing Daisies got cancelled anyway.”

  


“Pushing Daisies?”

  


“Yes. In an alternate universe both of you are television show characters from cancelled-too-soon series, nobody thought you would ever interact or meet in any way, and I’m voiced by Jim Dale. Hence why I do indeed sound like the fellow from the Harry Potter audiobooks. It is a pleasant side-effect of the multiverse theory, and one which I happen to be very fond of. Whoever heard of a narrator without the voice.”

  


“Who am I played by?” Ned asked, fascinated.

  


“Lee Pace.”

  


“I _said_ you looked like that pretty elf-king from the Hobbit,” Emerson Cod insisted “Did you listen? You said no, we look nothing alike. But in a parallel universe he played you.”

  


“That’s weird,” Ned swayed and sat down. “Please don’t make me dress up, Chuck. I’m not omniscient but I don’t have to be to  know what you’re thinking.”

  


“Not even for Comic-Con?” Lucas piped up. What was Comic-Con? All Henry knew was that Lucas had taken copious amounts of time off work for it, and bragged about his ‘cosplay’ all week beforehand. Comicon was not something Henry desired to know anything more about.

  


“What about-” started Olive Snook.

  


The Narrator waved a dismissive hand. “Please. Look up your lookalikes on ‘the Google’ will you,” he cast Henry a sidelong long, eyebrows raised. “The Google? Really Henry, there is no ‘the’, it’s not a conventional noun. It’s also a verb. And an adjective, if we happen to be talking about googly eyes. Not an adverb yet, but give language time to evolve. I am not here to make casting calls.” his voice softened. “I’m here to say goodbye. Doctor Morgan, SSUMC...I wish you all the best. _Au revoir._ ”

  


_Until next time_ Henry translated internally, and watched the Narrator exit the Pie Hole. Detective Martinez, Jo, she leaned into his shoulder and smiled.

  


“We’re going to be okay, Henry. Everything is going to be great.”

  


And for the first time, the Good Ship Martinez sailed, as they leaned in for a swift, and hilariously awkward kiss that was ruined by Lucas, Ned, Chuck and Olive cheering. Meanwhile, the man named Emerson Cod was sarcastically applauding.

  


Everything was going to be great.

  


Well, mostly.

  


Nothing could ever be perfect, but that wasn’t the point of life. The point was that no matter how long it lasted, 235, 2000 or 24,373 years, life is supposed to be lived. That is not to say they would never be hurt emotionally or physically, (or even spiritually if there was some bizarre demonic accident) again, but right now they could afford to be content.

  


Because none of them were scheduled to die for another _oh decade and a bit, 10 years, eleven months, five days and twenty three hours eighteen minutes._ Happiness could last.

  


And they didn’t need a Narrator meddling about and spoiling things.

  


-

  


_So I departed._

  


_There are, however, two more goodbyes I need to make. The first is currently, at this moment, being delivered in a brown envelope labelled ‘WARNING DO NOT OPEN BECAUSE CROCODILES’ to one Lieutenant Reece of the NYPD. The Lieutenant was somewhat frustrated with recent wasting of police time and the new murder case they had to solve, that of a young woman shot and dumped in the river. She was therefore very annoyed to receive a missive from yours truly and opened it with trepidation. It read as follows:_

  


_**'Lieutenant,** _

  


_**My apologies for the intrusion to your day. As I have ruined things sufficiently for you, I believe there is a debt I need to repay. The murder of Cassidy Casey Casterton is one that weighs heavily on my mind, and I have decided in payment for my arrest, I shall enclose a file on what** _ _ **really** _ _**happened.** _

  


_**The facts were these...'** _

  


_The rest is inconsequential to our purposes here._

  


_And now for my final goodbye..._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye.


End file.
